


Proof of Life

by MellowMild



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowMild/pseuds/MellowMild
Summary: Six months after the second heist, the surviving members of the Professor's gang gather in Cuba for a reunion. When an uninvited guest turns up, a man more dangerous than any of them realise at first, both the Pofessor and Denver face a stark choice: do what this man asks, or watch their families die. While they race against time to save those they love, Lisbon and Stockholm make their own plans, determined to save themselves and prevent their men from playing into the hands of a ruthless criminal. Along the way secrets get revealed and relationships are tested, whilst loyalties and morality gets stretched to breaking point. Will they find a way out without having to choose between selling their souls to the devil or sacrificing those they love?
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 99
Kudos: 339





	1. Reunion

_How I wish true love was like a boy playing chess – always afraid of losing his Queen. And a girl risking everything just to protect her King.  
_ **_Unknown_ **

_Six months after second heist  
_ _Canoa, Ecuador  
_ Laughter drifts to him on the breeze and Sergio lifts his head, smiling. It never fails, the warm feeling that envelops him when he hears his love laughing – happy, enjoying life. _Alive_. Raquel and Marivi are down on the terrace and their contented chatter reaches him through the open study window. The house they are now staying in is built along the contours of the terrain along the coast, the upper level set further back into the hill that rises behind it, leaving a lovely spacious terrace on ground level to be enjoyed on sunny days. Since they moved to Ecuador (for South Asia became too dangerous after that second heist) Marivi has experienced an unexpected and inexplicable upturn in her health, her mind suddenly able to focus and retain information for much longer periods, and Raquel is making the most of it, spending lots of quality time with her mother. He is happy for her; he knows it is breaking her heart to watch her mother gradually slip away. Perhaps the improvement has something to do with the fact that they are happy here; more settled, more at ease with the way of life, for there remains a large population of expatriates in this former colony and everybody speaks Spanish. Canoa is not a large town, but it has everything they need, including a good school for Paula, and for the rest Quito is a short drive away. He really hopes that it lasts, that they can stay here for years. Who knows, perhaps the fact that they managed to fake their deaths in the violent conclusion to the gold heist will allow them to have their wish.

He gazes out over the Pacific, sparkling invitingly on this sunny day, grateful for everything that he has. When the breeze comes over it, like today, he can practically taste the tang of the ocean, as the house is a mere twenty-metre walk from the broad sandy beach. Canoa doesn’t have the hustle and bustle of Palawan, and in the early mornings the air is filled with the calls of seabirds, with the rustle of the wind in the trees. Yes, he is grateful that he can have this life, but most of all he is grateful to have the woman he loves still at his side. It could have been so different, so much darker. He vividly remembers the terror and desolation of that day, six months ago, when he thought they had killed her, and he hopes to never experience it again. He knows that before that there were times when he took her for granted, especially during the frantic days of the heist – days when he forgot how lucky he is that she gives him the time of day. Well, never again. Each morning when he wakes to find her by his side, when he feels her lips against his skin, he reminds himself of this. Of course they still argue, and of course they sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but now he is very careful not to belittle her, not to diminish her to something less than the wonderful and admirable person that she is. He is doing everything he can to be better for her, to be worthy of her love. To learn from his mistakes.

A beep from the computer draws his attention back into the room and he turns to it, expecting the email to be in relation to their new business venture. It was Raquel’s idea, and he knew as soon as she proposed it that it was a brilliant one. Neither of them is built for sitting still, for the life of retired millionaires. They need something to challenge them, to keep them busy, and even though he suspects she suggested it as much out of fear that he will start planning yet another criminal venture than an actual desire to create a business, he still loves it.  
 _“Why not start a security advisory business?” she suggested a few days after they moved into their new house. They were on the terrace, her toes burrowed beneath his thigh on the wooden three-seater, as they sipped wine and watched Marivi, her care-giver Privi (who chose to come with them from the Philippines, for she had no family of her own) and Paula frolic on the beach. The local newspaper lay on her lap and she tapped the main headline:_ Burglary at National Art Museum _. She grinned. “Who better than the biggest, smartest thief in history to advise places like this how to safeguard their treasures? To find and point out the weaknesses in their security systems?”  
_ And so they set up their business, with trustworthy front personnel who handle the interactions with their clients, whilst the two of them stay hidden behind the scenes and do the analysis. Their reputation has grown quickly as word got around and now they are in global demand, but they are picky about their clientele. No spoilt rich clients for them – they focus on places like museums and national art galleries. He finds it fulfilling, they both do, for Raquel is an equal partner in this and they love nothing more than plotting together to find a way past the security of the clients they take on.

But the email that has come in has nothing to do with business. Instead it is from Helsinki, proposing a reunion of the remaining members of the gang. Sergio reads it twice, carefully, before he sits back and stares over the ocean once more. Then he gets up and pads downstairs in search of his partner. He finds her clearing the dining room table from the detritus of the materials she used to help Paula with her art project, and she turns and smiles at him as he enters.  
“Hey.”  
“Hey yourself.” He moves over to help and she turns her head to steal a kiss when he reaches over her shoulder to deposit some paper scraps in the bag she has in her hand.  
“Mama and I found some oysters at the market,” she informs him, her expressive eyebrows lifting suggestively, and he feels himself stir immediately. There is fresh seafood in abundance here, and they both love it. Especially the oysters, which they can both attest is indeed an aphrodisiac. It never fails – the nights after eating oysters are always energetic and memorable, and suddenly he can barely wait. He pulls her against him and kisses her quite indecently, and when he releases her she is breathless and bright-eyed, with two red spots colouring her cheeks.  
“Wow,” she says, “and we haven’t even eaten them yet,” and he laughs with her.  
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he ventures, feeling bold and playful and her eyes widen in amused surprise. He knows that she adores it when he allows his adventurous side to come out, and he almost pulls her to him again before he remembers what he came downstairs for. “But before we get totally distracted, there’s something I have to tell you.”  
“Okay,” she agrees, and the hand that was creeping towards his butt pauses on its journey.  
“I just received an email from Helsinki. He’s proposing a reunion of the gang in a month’s time. A friend offered him the use of his mansion in Cuba – it’s on the El Paraiso beach. He sent pictures; it’s beautiful and the house is huge. He has it for a week.” There was a time, before that day in the woods in Spain, when he may have taken a decision like this on his own – not stopping to think that he should discuss it with her, but no longer. He has grown, has got better at this relationship stuff, or so he hopes. “What do you think?”  
“In a month’s time?” she checks, and he confirms. “Paula will be on her school vacation then. Do you think we can take her with? And Mama and Privi? We can make it a family holiday,” she adds, becoming more enthusiastic with each word.  
It is infectious and he grins; he rather likes the sound of that. A family holiday. So he nods, and she throws her arms around his neck. “Fantastic. I look forward to it. I’ve always wanted to visit Cuba – follow in Che Guevara’s footsteps, you know?”  
He nods again; the same thought has occurred to him – he would love to see the place where the ultimate resistance fighter came to prominence. They are both somewhat giddy at the prospect, and she presses herself against him shamelessly. “But now I believe I was promised more,” she announces pointedly, before her mouth fuses with his for yet another ardent kiss. Oh yes, it promises to be quite a night.

_One month later  
_ _Cayo Largo del Sur, Cuba  
_ They land in Havana in the early morning and Helsinki is there waiting for them, grinning from ear to ear. He greets them effusively, engulfing Lisbon in a bear-hug and shaking the Professor’s hand, before kneeling down and offering Paula a lollipop from his ever-ready supply. He makes a fuss over Marivi, who is immediately charmed by this big bear of a man, before leading them out to the waiting helicopter that will take them over to the smaller island. They are the last to arrive, he informs them; the rest are already ensconced in the mansion and having a good time. During the short flight he tells them that the Russians appropriated the _Cayo Largo del Sur_ island and its heavenly beach during their long history with Cuba, and after the collapse of communism it has become the playground for the rich and famous of that country. His friend is an oligarch, and his estate includes private security that keeps undesirables off the stretch of beach in front of it. Sergio catches Raquel’s eye and she can read his thoughts – so much for the struggles of Che Guevara and others like him; the world will forever belong to those with money.

When they touch down on the lawn in front of the mansion, the others are waiting. They are all there – Denver, Stockholm and Cincinnati, Tokyo, Rio and Bogota, and Marseille, Manila and Palermo. The reunion is joyful and rowdy, but also tinged with a touch of sadness, for they can’t help but think of those that are no longer with them in times like these. But they determinedly banish these maudlin thoughts and focus on catching up and having fun together. And for the next two days they do exactly that. During the long sunny days those that want to do so hop on the big yacht that comes with the house and sail over to the main island, where they explore and visit the historical sites. Sergio acts as tour guide, and if some of the others’ attention wane during his detailed talks, Raquel and Paula remain fascinated and hang on his every word. During the evenings they gather around the large table on the patio, to talk and laugh and reminisce, and sometimes to quarrel good-naturedly, like the big dysfunctional family they are. On the third night they decide to go over to the mainland for dinner and dancing. Marivi and Privi offer to stay behind and keep an eye on the kids, so the rest of them dress up and pile onto the yacht for the short trip over. They end up in an open-air establishment in Cienfuegos that offer live music, where the food is delicious but the rum cocktails are even more so, and by the time they have eaten most of them are tipsy. When darkness falls the place is lit up by dozens of lanterns strung between the trees, and it is like a fairy-tale.

After dinner a local salsa band strikes up and Raquel goes off with the girls to dance. Most of the men follow, except for Sergio and Marseille who turn their chairs around and settle in to watch. Marseille offers him one of the local cigars and Sergio accepts, feeling mellow and indulgent as he observes the others having fun. It was a good idea to come to Cuba, he thinks as Raquel throws back her head and laughs at something Stockholm says. He has a sudden vivid flashback to the first time he entered Raquel’s house back in Madrid, when he-  
He cuts off the thought; he doesn’t want to think about the fact that he went there to kill. But as he hears Raquel laugh, he remembers one of the post-it notes he read, one of the reminders Marivi left herself: _Raquel is a serious woman, but she loves me very much_. He smiles; it makes him inordinately happy to know that since coming to live with him, she has lost a lot of that seriousness. She looks over at him and grins, and he blows a ring of smoke in her direction, making her laugh once more. She sashays over, not once losing the beat, and takes the cigar from his fingers for a puff. He smirks at her, the alcohol and tobacco coursing through his veins, and she winks at him as she hands the cigar back and returns to the others.

The band moves on to a lively salsa and the dancers begin to pair off, Palermo annexing Raquel. They are both good dancers, all fluid hips and light-footed movement, and they draw admiring looks from the locals watching on. Sergio leans back in his chair, suppressing the irrational stab of jealousy that courses through him. He has no rhythm and as a result he doesn’t like to dance in public, something Raquel knows and accepts. She has never nagged him about it and he loves her all the more for that, so he has no right to complain when she finds another partner. Besides, even though she is dancing with another man she looks at him often, drawing him into it, making him feel part of her enjoyment. A sheen of sweat turns her skin golden in the flickering light of the lanterns, and he knows he is staring but he can’t help it. She is gorgeous, and his gaze traces over her legs, the short skirt and tank-top, to her bare shoulders and up to be captured by the burnished honey of her eyes. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and he swallows, wishing she were in his arms right now. He wants nothing more than to kiss her, devour her. His eyes move down once more, lingering on her breasts, unencumbered by a bra, then down to be hypnotised by the movement of her hips. He feels himself stir, overwhelmed by a rush of desire, primal and possessive, and when the band switches to a slower _charanga_ song that he recognises from a CD Raquel sometimes played when she felt like dancing back at home, he finds himself on his feet and tapping Palermo on the shoulder. Huh. He must be more intoxicated than he realised and he momentarily panics, until he sees the delight in Raquel’s eyes. The other man gives way with a resigned smile and she steps into his arms, much closer than she has been dancing with Palermo. She shoves a leg between his and moulds their hips together, and when she begins to move he forgets everything but her.

Heat radiates from her, warming his blood and making him light-headed with want, and he doesn’t even have to try to follow the instructions she gave him the first time he asked her to teach him to dance: _“The secret is not to concentrate on what your feet are doing,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the middle of the floor. “You have to cede control to instinct. So don’t think about the movements. Think about something else, like, erm, a complicated chess move.” She grinned, and he found himself caught under her spell. “Or you,” he murmured, “I’ll think about you,” and to his surprise realised that they were already moving around effortlessly to the rhythm of the music. It turned out that he could dance, with the right partner. With her._

It is the same now, here in the sultry night air in Cuba, where he is once more under her spell. He forgets to be awkward, he forgets to remain in control at all costs. He stares down at her face, lost in her beauty, distracted by the way her hips move against him, by the delicious friction of her hip-bone against his cock. Her eyes are locked on his, and beyond her face he can see the valley between her breasts, and is mesmerised when a bead of sweat dislodges and meanders down, into that valley. It takes everything he has not to lean down and follow its path with his tongue. Yes, he is so bedazzled by her that he never notices Tokyo elbowing Manila and pointing her chin in their direction, or the way Palermo lifts his eyebrows and grins when Sergio’s hand runs up Raquel’s leg and over her buttock, causing her to grind against him even harder. It is hot and sexy and unbearable and by the time the song ends he is turned on beyond reason, and he can tell she is too by the way her nipples stand to attention against his chest. He presses his lips to her ear and murmurs, “Let’s get out of here,” and she nods immediately, and they slip away as soon as the music starts up again.

They somehow make it back to the yacht without tearing each other’s clothes off, but as soon as they are inside the cabin and screened from prying eyes she shimmies out of her underwear and he fumbles open his trousers, his fingers clumsy from alcohol and arousal. As soon as he’s free her hand encloses him for a brazen fondle and he lifts her onto the nearest available surface and spreads her legs. They are both out of control, all rational thought lost to burning desire, and he buries himself in her wet heat with a single hard thrust. She gasps at the pleasure of it, her hand grappling for his butt, trying to pull him in even deeper, and he rips her shirt over her head, wanting to see all of her. She bends her legs and he hooks his arms under her knees and pushes them to the sides, opening her up to him, only realising that she has unbuttoned his shirt somehow when her nails scrape down his chest, hard enough to leave marks. He doesn’t care, he is too far gone, and when he begins to snap his hips into her she braces a hand against the wall behind her so that she can counter-thrust. It is frantic and carnal and urgent, and he thinks he has never been this turned on, has never seen _her_ more lost to her desires, and there is something freeing in the knowledge that they can still lose control like this; can still fuck like horny teenagers after years of fulfilling sex. It is the moment that he realises: he will desire this woman for the rest of his life. No matter how many times they have been intimate, he will always want more. Fuck, he loves her. He only registers he blurted that out loud when her pupils dilate and her inner muscles grip him hard, momentarily making him falter, and she echoes back, “Fuck, I love you too,” before she adds, gripping the back of his neck and swirling her hips, “now come-the-fuck-on, _harder_.” He obeys, a feral grin momentarily appearing on his face as he gives her everything he has, until he can feel his balls slapping against her flesh with each thrust, until the endorphins flood his mind and it turns into a grimace as he strains to provide her as much pleasure as is humanly possible, until he can’t bear it any longer and explodes inside her. The sensation of his seed spurting into her pulls her over the edge too, and she climaxes with a high-pitched “Ah!”, her juices flooding from her in waves until it flows down his thighs. And then everything goes dark and he floats off in a sea of bliss, nothing in his mind except the unimaginably good sex he’s just had.

By the time the others return to the yacht they are seated on the stern bench, Raquel demurely curled into Sergio’s side and their fingers laced together, looking at the stars and chatting. But even so they can’t quite hide the fact that they’ve recently had sex: a red blush of arousal still tinges Raquel’s chest and Sergio’s body is relaxed and languid in the aftermath, but the others are too drunk to notice. Only Monica, who stuck to non-alcoholic cocktails all evening, notices that they both look as though they’ve been thoroughly shagged, but she merely smiles to herself and says nothing.

_Next morning  
_ When Raquel wanders into the kitchen in search of coffee to soothe her slight hangover, she finds Stockholm and Tokyo already gathered around the coffee pot. Tokyo looks over, bleary-eyed and somewhat green around the gills, and Raquel smirks at her. The younger woman is far worse off than her, it seems. Monica, on the other hand, looks bright-eyed and chirpy. Tokyo nods at Raquel before continuing what she was saying. “It’s not natural – who the hell drinks non-alcoholic cocktails, anyway?”  
Monica laughs, unperturbed by the grumbling. It seems nothing will affect her good mood this morning and Raquel tilts her head, a suspicion beginning to form in the back of her mind. Now that she thinks about it, Monica hasn’t drunk any alcohol during their stay here, and that is certainly unusual. Combined with her unfalteringly good mood… She begins to smile.  
“Hey, are you…?” Raquel gestures to Monica’s stomach, who beams as bright as the sun.  
“Yes,” she confirms, unable to keep it to herself anymore, “yes I am.”  
“Aaah!” Raquel exclaims and throws her arms around the other woman, “that’s fantastic! Congratulations!”  
Tokyo looks on in bemusement, until the penny eventually drops. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant?”  
Monica nods over Raquel’s shoulder and Tokyo grins and shakes her head. “Oh Lord, we’re gonna have a little Denver running around in a few months? I’m not sure the world is ready for that.” But she smiles broadly as she says it, and takes over the hugging duties when Raquel finally releases the mother-to-be.

Once the initial celebration is over it is only natural for their thoughts to turn to Nairobi, who so dearly wanted to have another child, and the mood in the room sobers. Tokyo sighs and looks down, and the other two women share a sad look.  
“She would probably have been pregnant with her little Professor by now,” Tokyo says, and is so preoccupied with thoughts of her dead friend that she doesn’t notice the other two women freeze and exchange a startled glance.  
“What do you mean?” Raquel asks, her voice suddenly tight, but still Tokyo remains oblivious.  
“She was going to have the sperm treatment after the heist, so she would probably-“  
“No, not that,” Raquel interrupts. “What did you mean by ‘her little Professor’?”  
“Oh. She was gonna get the sperm from the Professor – didn’t we mention that last time?” She says the words as though they are nothing special, as though they don’t have the potential to hurt and hurt deeply, and it is only when she looks up and sees that the colour has drained from Raquel’s face that she realises that something is amiss. When she looks to Stockholm the other woman’s expression is horrified and she stares at Tokyo as though she has two heads. “What? What’s going on?”

Raquel is in shock, unable to form any words, but even if she could, what can she possibly say? Monica, on the other hand, fuelled by the heightened levels of hormones from her pregnancy, is promptly filled with anger on behalf of her friend and takes it upon herself to respond. “No, Tokyo. You and Nairobi definitely did _not_ mention that bit at the monastery.” She shakes her head, astounded. “My God. Unbelievable. You didn’t think it was important for Lisbon to know that before we celebrated with you guys?!”  
Tokyo looks from one to the other, uneasy now but still puzzled. “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?” she counters.  
“What’s the big deal?! Are you _kidding_ me?!” Monica exclaims, and her rising voice finally shakes Raquel out of her frozen state.  
“Monica-“  
“No, Raquel. No, goddammit!” She turns back to Tokyo, her anger in full flight. “It’s a _huge_ fucking deal - the Professor is in a committed relationship, with one of your friends, no less. You don’t just ask him for his sperm without having the courtesy to inform your friend that you’re going to do it!”  
“Monica,” Raquel says again, but she is unstoppable.  
“And it’s not just sperm, you know. There would have been a _child_ , flesh and blood of the Professor’s, out in the world. How do you think he would have coped with that? You know he feels responsible for everything – for all of us and we’re not even his flesh and blood. He would have been torn between the family he already has and that child. The complications that would have arisen from this would have been staggering.”  
Tokyo stares at her, uncomfortable. “But the Professor said yes – surely he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want it? And it’s his sperm – he can do with it what he wants, can’t he? I’m sure Nairobi had no intention of stepping on Lisbon’s territory. She just wanted a child, and with the best genetic material available.”

Monica takes a breath, but before she can speak Raquel does so.  
“She’s right,” she says, and there’s a dullness to her voice that makes Monica glance at her worriedly. Raquel looks dazed and doesn’t meet their eyes as she continues, “It’s his sperm and he can decide what- _who_ he wants to give it to.”  
Monica begins to shake her head but Raquel is no longer with them; she has turned inward and there is an emptiness in her eyes as she turns to leave. She hears Monica continue as she makes her way out of the room.  
“Well, I can tell you I would _not_ have been happy if she’d asked Denver without speaking to me first, and I bet you wouldn’t have been either if it were Rio,” she says to Tokyo. “Which, by the way, she actually did during the first heist.”  
Tokyo’s gaze snaps to hers. “What?”  
“Rio told me,” Monica continues mercilessly. “Nairobi tried to get him to sleep with her during the first heist, so she could have a smart kid.” Tokyo’s eyes drop to the floor and Monica nods. “Feels a bit shitty, doesn’t it?” she says, softer now, before she turns on her heel and follows Raquel out, leaving a pensive Tokyo behind.

She runs into the Professor just outside the door and he greets her brightly, but his smile falters when she glowers at him and snaps, “What is wrong with you men?”  
“Er,” he fumbles, “is that a rhetorical question or-“  
“Tokyo just blurted out that you agreed to have a child with Nairobi, which you evidently forgot to mention to Lisbon.” The ‘you stupid idiot’ remains unsaid, but it is clear as day that that is what she’s thinking.  
 _Oh shit_. He pales and looks around wildly. “Where is she?”  
Monica lifts her chin towards the French doors. “I think she went down to the beach,” she informs him, and he’s moving before she has finished speaking, hurrying in the same direction.

He finds her sitting on the sand, knees drawn to her chest and her chin resting on them, gazing out to sea. She is cloaked by an air of melancholy and his heart lurches; it is not the reaction he expected. He anticipated anger, but this is far worse. She looks like her heart is breaking and he can’t deal with that. He approaches her as though she is a skittish horse that could bolt at any second, and even though she must have heard him coming she doesn’t look at him, and suddenly he is scared. He sits down next to her, casting around helplessly for an opening but coming up empty, and the silence hangs heavy upon them. Eventually it is Raquel that breaks it, getting straight to the heart of the matter.  
“Is it true? Did you agree to be a sperm donor for Nairobi?” She is looking at him now and somehow that makes things a hundred times worse.  
“…Yes.”  
She nods, smiling sadly, and looks away. “Why?”  
The question catches him off-guard and it takes him a few seconds to answer. “…I don’t know.” He shrugs helplessly. “I said no at first. But she got upset, and then she reminded me of all the big things I’ve asked her to do, and that she has only ever asked this one small thing of me. I- she wanted it so badly; how could I not say yes? I felt I owed it to her.”  
Her gaze returns to him as he talks, watching his face carefully. “So she guilt-tripped you,” she surmises, and he stares at her in surprise.  
“I-“ He sighs, woefully inarticulate. “Maybe. I admired her, and I wanted her to be happy. It’s because of me that she can never get her son back – how could I say no?”  
“Oh Sergio,” she laments, exasperated, but her voice filled with love all the same, “guilt is probably the worst possible reason to bring a child into this world.”  
He has no response to that, so instead he takes a breath and says, “I understand if you’re angry. It was an impulsive decision and I should have talked to you first, because you are my partner and I respect you more than anyone in this world. It’s not an excuse, but we were in the middle of planning the heist and I was in full Professor mode. He - the socially maladjusted man – didn’t know any better, but I, Sergio… Raquel, _I_ know better now, and I’m sorry.”

He watches her anxiously, but his words don’t seem to have the desired effect. Melancholy still envelops her as she responds softly, “I’m not angry.” And then she turns to him and the anguish in her eyes stabs straight through his heart. “I’m frightened,” she admits, and he shakes his head in confusion.  
“I don’t understand,” he pleads, and she nods, as though that is exactly what she expected. He reaches for her hand and her fingers are cold and unresponsive under his. “Frightened of what?”  
It takes her forever to answer. “…That what we have – me, you, Paula and Mama – that the day will come when that is no longer enough for you,” she admits dully, and he immediately begins to protest.  
“No-“  
She overrides him. “You’ve never said anything about wanting a child of your own, and yet you agree to have one with the first woman that asks, Sergio. I can’t help but think you did that because subconsciously you do want one. It never occurred to me that you might want that, and that is on me. I should have asked; we should have talked about it.”  
He stares at her, his heart hammering in his chest, not quite certain where this is leading, or even what he really wants. And, he realises, he also has no idea what _she_ wants. So he steels himself and asks, “Do _you_? Want another child?”

She looks down at their hands. “Honestly? It wasn’t part of my ‘Grand Life Plan’,” she admits, her fingers making quotation marks in the air. When he says nothing she hooks her hair behind her ear and squares her shoulders. “I don’t hate the idea, but- I’m forty-three. At this age it would be a health risk, for both myself and the baby. Besides, I might not even be able to get pregnant, if we did try.” Her hand turns under his and their fingers interlace. “And for me, what we have, our little family, is more than enough. I don’t know if I want to commit to another eighteen years of raising a child – if I want to cope with a teenager when I’m in my late fifties.” She smiles wryly. “I was looking forward to some years without that responsibility, whilst I was still spry enough to make the most of that freedom; to be able to give _you_ all my attention.” There’s no doubt as to what she means by that, but she spells it out all the same. “I want to be able to have sex with you in every damn room of our house, to travel without worrying about the children missing school...” Her eyes slide away from his and guilt flashes across her face. “It sounds selfish, but most of my life I’ve been responsible for the wellbeing of others – Mama, Paula, even fucking Alberto. I think I’ve earned the right to be a little selfish in my golden years.” He squeezes her hand, but she’s not done yet. “But. If you really want a child of your own, I’ll consider it.”  
“I never said-“  
“Because I love you very much, and to be honest I’m struggling with the thought of you having a child with anyone else.”  
“Raquel-“  
“And I know that’s not fair to you, so… If it’s what you want, I’m willing to try.” She grips his hand tightly. “Because love requires compromise, no?”

He turns to her, moved by her raw honesty. He has never met anyone so willing to put themselves on the line emotionally as the woman before him, and he knows it is the major reason why the two of them work. Because she compensates for his emotional cowardice; she is brave enough for the both of them. “Can I say something now?” he asks, but her gaze has moved to something across his shoulder.  
“No.”  
“What? Raquel, please. You have to let me-“  
“No, _Sergio_.” She is scrambling to her feet as she speaks and he stares at her in bewilderment. “ _Look_ ,” she urges, and he belatedly registers the expression of panic on her face. And when he turns and follows her gaze, he sees two motor launches bearing down on them, laden with armed men, and his heart stops.

_tbc_


	2. Hostages

_“I’m a chess piece. A pawn,” she said. “I can be sacrificed, but I cannot be captured. To be captured would be the end of the game.”  
_ **_Paolo Bacigalupi, Ship Breaker_ **

For a second he is paralysed, unable to believe his eyes. How? _Who_? And then he remembers – Paula and Marivi and Privi are back in the house, and a fear bigger than any he has ever known grips him. He grabs Raquel’s arm. “Back to the house. Now,” he orders, and then they are running up the sandy footpath as fast as they can. And all the while he is acutely aware of the engines growing louder behind them, of the threat coming closer with each second. When they reach the patio he hears the engines growl loudly, and he knows they have beached the two craft on the sand and the men are disembarking. His mind is feverishly working through a hundred alternatives, trying to find the best option to keep his family safe. But as they burst through the doors into the lounge, he sees that they are already too late. There are men here too, dressed in black and armed to the teeth.

They have herded most of the gang into this room, and when Sergio looks to his left he sees a man drag a crying Paula across the floor by the arm, and a helpless fury grips him. He is dimly aware of a roar of pure anguish erupting from Raquel, and then she is hurtling across the room, teeth bared. The man hauling Paula along sees her coming and his eyes widen in alarm, and he lets go of the girl to grapple with the rifle slung across his chest. Another tries to step in front of Raquel, but she knees him in the groin and he slumps to the floor with a howl of pain, and then it is bedlam. It is the trigger that spurs the rest into action, and each member of the gang goes for their nearest assailant. Sergio momentarily freezes – waiting for the bullets to start flying, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second before he starts to fight his way through the melee towards Raquel. He sees her drop to her knees and envelop their daughter in her arms, shielding her, and he knows she is also waiting for the bullets to come. But miraculously it doesn’t happen. _Why don’t they shoot_?! Just as he reaches Raquel’s side it finally comes, a long burst from a semi-automatic, and he wraps his body around both his girls, trying with everything he has to protect them. When it stops he looks up in panic, expecting to see his friends, his family, fallen and bleeding. But they are all still on their feet, unharmed. Plaster-dust fills the air and he realises that they must have shot into the ceiling.

A semblance of calm descends as every person remains frozen in place, waiting for the air to clear. A man stands halfway up the broad staircase, looking down on them, a semi-automatic dangling from his hand. He is not dressed in black like the rest; instead he is wearing a light linen suit, and as Sergio’s gaze finds him he fastidiously brushes the plaster-dust from his shoulders. He is a large man with grey slicked-back hair, and when Raquel sees him Sergio hears her draw in an alarmed breath. She knows that face; has stared at it for years on a multitude of arrest warrants during her time as a police officer, and she is probably the only person in the room who realises instantly the scale of the disaster they find themselves in. Sergio glances at her and she murmurs, for his ears only, “This is bad, Sergio. That’s Ivan Kolarov, the most notorious Russian mafia boss operating today.” There is no time for anything else as the man begins to speak. His voice is guttural and the Spanish laced with a heavy Russian accent when he says, “The next one that moves my men will shoot in both kneecaps. All right?”

He looks around, his pale grey eyes landing briefly on each of them, before they come to rest on Sergio and a smile spreads across his face. Raquel grips Sergio’s shirt in alarm and he squeezes her closer in an attempt to comfort as the Russian speaks again. “Well-well. If it isn’t the famous Professor, in the flesh.” Sergio takes a breath and Raquel instinctively knows what he is about to do. She shakes her head desperately and he tries to smile at her, but it comes out more like a grimace. Then he stands and turns to face the other man. He is aware of Raquel getting to her feet next to him but keeping Paula shielded behind her body, and his love for her blooms in his chest. So brave, so loyal, and when she slips her hand into his he clutches it gratefully, drawing strength from it.  
He decides it is better not to let the man know that they recognised him. “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this?” he demands, trying to put as much authority as he can muster into his voice, but it still sounds frail and uncertain to his own ears.  
Kolarov smirks but does not bother to answer. Instead he looks to Helsinki and spreads his arms. “Mirko my friend,” he says, and every eye in the room turns towards the big man in astonishment, “I admit that I thought you were full of shit when you bragged about knowing the supposedly dead Professor, but now I take it back. You delivered, my friend, you more than delivered.”  
Sergio feels dizzy; he cannot believe what he is hearing. They have been betrayed by one of their own and anger envelops him. He clenches his fist as he stares at the man he has begun to regard as a friend, the man who has apparently endangered them all. “Helsinki,” he rasps through clenched teeth, “what have you _done_?”

The man in question merely stands there, gawping at the Russian like a fish on dry land, totally bewildered, and Kolarov laughs. It is an unpleasant, grating sound and Raquel involuntarily shivers. “Oh, don’t blame him, Professor,” he says gaily, “he _was_ blind drunk at the time. He probably doesn’t even remember that conversation.”  
Denver creaks his neck, a murderous look in his eye. “You stupid fucking-“ he begins, but shuts up when Monica places a hand on his arm. She is clutching Cincinnati to her and he sees the fear in her eyes – fear for the safety of their child, and he says nothing further.  
Sergio swallows his fury; he needs to concentrate on the here and now, on getting them out of here alive. “You haven’t answered my question,” he repeats quietly, “who are you, and what do you want?” At least he knows the last thing a mafia boss would do is involve the authorities, and that might just give them a chance.  
The pale grey gaze returns to the Professor, then lingers on the woman and child next to him. “My name is not important,” he declares. “All you need to know is that I am a family man like yourself.” He smiles at Raquel and she shivers once more. “Such a pretty little family, Professor.” His gaze moves to Paula’s face, peeking out from behind her mother. “Such a beautiful little girl.” Raquel’s hand clenches around Sergio’s fingers and his heart rate speeds up. _Oh God, no_. When the Russian continues the menacing note in his voice is unmistakable. “What a pity it would be if anything happened to them.” He looks back to Sergio. “Don’t you agree?”  
Sergio takes a step forward, all colour drained from his face, and the nearest gunman lifts his rifle threateningly. The Russian clicks his tongue. “Tut-tut, Professor, there’s no need for dramatics.” He spreads his hands magnanimously. “You see, their fate is completely in your hands.”  
It is too much for Sergio. “ _What_ the _fuck_ do you _want_?” he demands, sweat beginning to gather on his forehead, and Kolarov straightens.  
“I want your help to save my son,” he says tersely. “They have him in a prison here in Cuba, and they will execute him in ten days’ time.”

A long silence descends as they stare at him in astonishment. Sergio looks towards Raquel, and her eyes are filled with dread. She gives him a minute shake of the head, more eloquent than any words, and he casts around for a way out. She helps him out.  
“Even though Cuba still has corporate punishment, they last executed someone in 2003,” she argues. “Why would they execute your son after not implementing that option for seventeen years?”  
Kolarov lifts an eyebrow. “Ah, beauty and brains?” He nods at the Professor, as though all the credit for this belongs to him, and Tokyo rolls her eyes. Then he shrugs, playing the injured party. “I ask myself the same question, madam. My family is being victimised.”  
“Hmm,” Raquel responds, unimpressed, “or maybe he isn’t really scheduled for execution. Maybe it is a lie, to win our sympathy.”  
The Russian’s expression hardens and he narrows his eyes at Raquel. “A cynic, too,” he says snidely, and Sergio intervenes.  
“She has a point. I’m not inclined to simply take your word for it, seeing as you are holding us at gunpoint.”  
The other man shrugs. “Then by all means, verify it for yourself,” he says magnanimously.  
“Rio,” Sergio says without taking his eyes off their assailant, and the young man picks up his laptop from the table.  
“Watch him,” Kolarov orders sharply, “we don’t want him to send any secret messages now, do we?”

Once again silence descends, the only sound the click of the keys as Rio types. After a few minutes he looks up. “It’s true,” he informs them. “Vasily Kolarov was sentenced to death and is scheduled to be executed in ten days.”  
“He must have been a pretty bad boy,” Tokyo interjects, “what did he do?”  
“Murder, two counts of aggravated rape, and drug trafficking,” Rio reads, his voice filled with disgust, and Palermo laughs.  
“He went for the whole trifecta,” he exclaims, and only those who know him well can hear the anger behind the words.  
Raquel and Sergio exchange a glance and there it is once again; the minute shake of the head from her. “Where is he being held?” Sergio asks, and Rio consults the laptop once more.  
“La Condesa prison. Close to the town of Guines.”  
“La Condesa?” Sergio closes his eyes. He knows it; has seen it on television programmes about the most notorious prisons in the world. “That’s a maximum security facility – there’s no way I can break someone out of one of those with only ten days to plan. To pull this off I would need to-“  
He breaks off as the armed men closest to them suddenly move. They grab Raquel and Paula and drag them over to where Marivi and Privi are standing, whilst others do the same to Monica and Cincinnati. When Denver tries to intervene he gets a smack in the face with a rifle-butt for his troubles, and the rest of the gang watch helplessly as the women and children are herded together, like lambs to the slaughter.  
“I was afraid you’d say that,” the Russian laments, ignoring the murderous expression on the Professor’s face, “so I will provide some incentive for you.”  
“Before this is done I will burn you to the ground-“ Sergio hisses but Kolarov is unperturbed.  
“These women and children will be my hostages, until you deliver my son to me. If you fail, they will be shot. If you try to double-cross me, they will be shot. If you or any of your friends try to escape – shot. If you try to inform the authorities – well, you get the picture.”

Sergio looks at Raquel helplessly, his heart breaking. There is no way out that he can see; they are vastly outnumbered and outgunned and desperation floods him. The woman he loves and his whole family is in danger once again, because of him, and the thought threatens to crush him. “How do I know I can trust you?” he demands, cursing the catch of emotion in his voice. “How do I know you won’t shoot them as soon as they leave here?”  
“You don’t. You will just have to take my word for it.”  
“No. Not good enough,” he says, shaking his head desperately. “I want Proof of Life every single day. I want to see her - my partner - and talk to her every day, or I will do nothing to save your son.”  
The conviction in his voice is unmistakable, and after a slight hesitation the Russian nods.  
Sergio feels tears spring to his eyes as the Russian gestures at his men and they begin to herd their hostages to the door. But as they pass close to where he is standing, Raquel shakes loose from the hands holding her and throws herself at him. She buries her face in his neck, and in the scramble to separate them no-one sees her press her lips to his ear and whisper urgently. They finally drag her off him and towards the door, and the last thing he sees of her is her face looking back at him over her shoulder, and a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

The men force the hostages onto the yacht and then below deck, from where they hear the engine start with a rumble. Raquel catches Monica’s eye and knows that she is thinking the same thing as her – they must try to escape before they reach their destination. But they are accompanied by five armed men and she knows it is hopeless, so she shakes her head at the other woman and they settle in for the ride. Raquel gathers Paula and her mother to her, murmuring assurances to them as she smiles bravely at Privi, who is taking all of this with remarkable equanimity. Raquel knows that the care-giver has not had an easy life, and it has obviously given her a resilience towards adversity. Inevitably her thoughts drift to Sergio, and she wonders bleakly whether she will ever see him again. Despite the mafia boss’ assurances she does not trust him, and she is convinced that he intends to kill them all as soon as they deliver his son back to him. Her thoughts turn to that day during the second heist, when she thought that Alicia had shot the Professor – had shot Sergio, the man she loves. She had just been returned to the Bank of Spain in the culmination of Plan Paris, when they heard Alicia confront the Professor, and the shot being fired.  
 _She heard the shot, and her heart stopped. She couldn’t believe it; couldn’t fathom its meaning. Was he wounded? Dead?! It couldn’t be. He was larger than life, smarter than all of them, indestructible. Wasn’t he…? And then the despair came, and she truly understood what he must have gone through when they’d pretended to execute her. One second she was in the middle of the heist, a million thoughts and permutations running through her head as she tried to execute their plans, and then one simple sound – a bang, like a fire-cracker, and everything stopped. Life as she knew it, gone forever. The future stretching before her bleak and empty. Absolute devastation. Her mind emptied from all thought except one: they have killed the man I love. Over and over, like a refrain – they have killed the man I love. The love of my life. And then seconds later, one other thought: I will make them pay. I will avenge him until my very last breath. All of this went through her mind in the space of one long anguished second, until she heard his voice and realised that he was still alive. There was time to alert Marseille and the Serbians and to send help. And in the end, Alicia was disillusioned enough with the system that had thrown her to the wolves that when the baby decided it was time to come out during the tense stand-off, she accepted their help in return for letting them go. And Raquel could talk to him, could hear his voice assuring her that he was fine, and could eventually reunite with him at the conclusion of the heist._

The Professor’s famous luck had held once more on that day, but this time she suspects it may finally have run out. There is no way out that she can see, and she can’t help but wonder how many more times she will get to look at his face before it is over. How many days will the Russian keep them alive, before he does what he has intended to do all along and kill them? A shudder goes through her and Marivi lifts her head from Raquel’s shoulder to look at her daughter searchingly.  
“My love, you need to have faith. Sergio will find a way,” she urges resolutely and Raquel smiles, grateful. She nods, but knows he will need help. Here in Cuba, he doesn’t have people ready to rescue them, and they will have to do it themselves. This time, he will depend on her more than ever if they are to get out of this alive.

They are dragged from the boat onto a deserted jetty, and as far as the eye can see there is only empty coastline. She has no idea where they are, and they are prodded a short walk through trees until they reach a ramshackle and abandoned old house. They are shoved down some stairs into a dank, humid basement, with only one small window above ground level that lets in the faintest of daylight. When her eyes get accustomed to the gloom she sees a few dirty mattresses strewn on the floor, and a bucket in the corner, and she swallows. It is clearer than ever to her that Ivan Kolarov has no intention of keeping them alive, and she knows that this place is likely to become their catacomb, unless they can save themselves.

Once the heavy iron door clangs shut behind them she turns to Monica. “The Professor will not save us,” she declares, and Stockholm stares at her in astonishment.  
“What? Why would you say that?”  
Raquel wipes the sweat from her brow. “Because I told him not to,” she admits.  
Monica looks thoroughly confused, so Raquel continues. “I recognise that man from my days as a police officer. He is the worst, most ruthless of men, and the son that is currently on death row is a hundred times worse.” She watches Monica steadily as she continues. “He has left a trail of rape and murder over three continents, and we _cannot_ set this man free. And I told the Professor that.”  
Monica takes a few seconds to digest that information, and then she says simply, “He won’t listen to you.”  
It’s Raquel’s turn to stare, so Monica explains. “Look, Lisbon- Raquel. I saw the way he looked at you last night, when you two were dancing. There is no way in hell that he will not try to save us – to save _you_.” She shrugs. “Even if it means letting that monster loose upon the world once more.”

Raquel closes her eyes, and as she does so images from the previous night flash before them. Sergio, staring openly at her as she dances. His body pressed against hers, one thigh between hers, beginning to stiffen against her hip as they dance with each other. Buried to the hilt inside her, his voice gruff as he blurts out, _fuck, I_ love _you_.  
 _Oh Sergio, my love_. She opens her eyes and looks at Monica determinedly.  
“Then we must take away any reason for him to do so. By saving ourselves.”

_tbc_


	3. Day One

_But I find something compelling in the game’s choreography, the way one move implies the next. The kings are an apt metaphor for human beings: utterly constrained by the rules of the game, defenceless against bombardment from all sides, able only to temporarily dodge disaster by moving one step in any direction.  
_ **_Jennifer duBois, A Partial History of Lost Causes_ **

_Cayo Largo del Sur, Cuba  
_ Sergio barely dares to blink until she is no longer in sight, clinging onto every precious millisecond that he has the privilege to still look at her. Once she sinks below the level of the patio, he swings around to glare at the Russian. “Where are you taking them?” he demands, his voice hoarse from suppressed emotion, and the mafia boss smiles thinly.  
“That is not your concern.” He comes down the stairs until he stands right in front of Sergio. “Now you share my pain, Professor. This is what it feels like to know someone you love will die in a few days-“  
That is when Sergio snaps and punches Kolarov in the face, as hard as he can. He is not a violent man but everyone has their limits, and this is the second time he is pushed over that limit because he is in love. He never knew, before he met Raquel, how love has the ability to intensify _everything_. The Russian staggers back, clutching his nose, and blood seeps through his fingers. A multitude of weapons snap towards the Professor, and it is a miracle that no-one pulls the trigger before Kolarov has a chance to hold up a hand. He shakes the blood from his fingers with a look of disgust, before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket to clean himself up. He is breathing heavily and when his gaze meets the Professor’s again it is devoid of expression. It is like staring into an abyss; one which you suspect descends right into the bowels of hell.  
“I will overlook it this once,” he says coldly, “because your actions tell me that you will be suitably motivated to get my son out of that prison. But if you ever do that again, I will have them shoot the little girl, and make the mother and grandmother watch.” He stares the other man down until he is certain that the words have sunk in, then he turns away and waves a dismissive hand. “Lock them in the library.” He looks back over his shoulder. “Everything you need to formulate a plan is in there. Time is of the essence – so I suggest you get started.”

Once they are inside the library and the door is locked behind them, Sergio slumps into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. He is assaulted by images of Raquel and Marivi being forced to watch as they shoot Paula in the head, and he can’t breathe. He didn’t think it was possible, but this time he feels worse than he did when he thought they’d killed Raquel during the last heist. He wonders, if he’d known all of this when he met her, whether he would have made a different choice – whether he would not have left her those coordinates. Whether he would have been unselfish enough to spare her from this life he leads, a life where they are constantly on the run, constantly in danger. But then he remembers – they have talked about this, and she told him in no uncertain terms not to go down that path.

_They were on yet another boat, on their way from the Philippines to Central America, for even though the authorities thought they had died during the assault on the Bank of Spain, Sergio felt that South Asia had become too dangerous for them to stay there. He had uprooted his family one more time, and he couldn’t quite banish from his mind the resentment on Paula’s face when Raquel had told her daughter and mother that they were moving once more. He was moulded to Raquel’s back on the narrow bunk in their quarters, feeling the ship roll with the swells of the Pacific under him. It was late at night but he couldn’t sleep, kept awake by feelings of regret. He knew Raquel was also awake, for her fingers kept tracing up and down his arm, as though she was mapping every inch of his skin. God, he loved her. He was still haunted by those gunshots, by the realisation that she could have died, and for something that was not really her crusade in the first place. He took a breath and pressed his lips to her shoulder, overcome by guilt. “If I hadn’t left you those coordinates, you and your mother and Paula would still be leading a normal life,” he blurted out, his voice raw with emotion, and she stiffened against him. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if this would be the time that she would not offer him absolution. But instead she moved, turning around so that she could look him in the eye. She searched his face in the gloom, and her hand came up to caress his cheek. “You’re feeling guilty,” she surmised, and he shifted as she wrapped a leg around his, pressing their lower bodies together.  
_ _“I put you in danger, and now we have to move again just as Paula started to make friends-“  
_ _She stopped him from continuing by fusing their lips together and kissing him ardently. When she pulled back, she said, “Don’t do that – don’t ever feel guilty about giving me a chance to escape my old life.”  
_ _“But don’t you have regrets, sometimes?” he pressed, even as he responded in kind when she began to undulate against him.  
_ _She smiled, her expression soft, and shook her head. “I don’t. Do you know what would most likely have happened if I’d stayed? Alberto would have sued me for custody of Paula, and as I didn’t have a job I would most likely have lost her.” Her gaze traced his face lovingly. “I would rather that Paula has to move around a lot than live with an abusive man. She’s better off, even though she’s too young to understand that. We’re all better off.”  
_ _He was erect now and she shifted her leg higher, over his hip, so that she could rub against him and spread her wetness over his length. His breath hitched at the sensation and she smirked. “And if you hadn’t left me those coordinates, we would have missed out on all of…_ this _,” she pointed out, sliding him inside her on the last word, and they both laughed breathlessly. But once he was buried inside her she paused and sobered, staring into his eyes. “Sergio, darling. Never forget that I made my own decisions. I chose to help you escape, I chose to come and look for you, and I chose to stay once I found you. And most importantly, I chose to take part in the second heist and put myself in danger, because I couldn’t stand idly by while the state tortured Rio. I am not some helpless victim in any of this, all right?” She waited until he nodded before she continued. “I love my life with you, and I love sticking it to the authorities with you.”  
_ _He couldn’t help but laugh at that, mollified by her conviction, but it was cut off when she deliberately swirled her hips and added, “But most of all, I love_ making love _to you.” And once they started moving together in earnest, all his doubts were lost in the depths of her eyes, washed away by the unadulterated love that shone from them._

No, Raquel will not be amused by his wallowing in self-pity and guilt; she will expect him to be the man that she thinks he is – the man that does not give up, the man that fights to his last breath. He snaps back into the present, and that is when he becomes aware of the commotion around him. He looks up to see Bogota and Rio restraining Denver, who is doing everything he can to get to Helsinki. The big man simply stands there, looking crushed, and Palermo has positioned himself between the two men, trying to keep them apart. Everyone is yelling over each other, and Sergio gets to his feet. He understands better than anyone what Denver is feeling, but he cannot waste any more time pining for his family. He needs to become the Professor once more, and he needs the rest of them to become his resistance fighters one more time. It is the only hope they have of saving those they love.  
“Enough,” he says, but no-one hears him. He slams a palm down on the table and repeats, much louder, “Enough!” and everyone is shocked into silence.

Denver, fuelled by fear for his wife and child, is the first to recover. “This is all his fault!” he exclaims, tears welling in his eyes as he stabs a finger at Helsinki, and Sergio sighs.  
“Apportioning blame is not helpful. It is a waste of time, and we have precious little of that as it is.”  
Denver stares at him, wiping angrily at a tear that runs down his cheek. “You’re not angry?! It’s his fault that Lisbon and your family – and my family – are in danger, and you’re just standing there calmly giving orders?!”  
The Professor’s face hardens. “Of course I’m angry. But there is no point in directing it at Helsinki. I choose to direct my anger at the only man responsible for putting my – our – families in danger. The Russian out there.” He gestures in the direction of the door, and they look at each other.  
“He’s right,” Tokyo says finally, “we can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves. I’m sure Helsinki never intended for this to happen,” and it is as if a valve has been opened and the tension released from the room.

The Professor looks around at them and nods resolutely. “Good. Let’s get down to business,” he declares. “First of all, what information do we need to pull this off?”  
Manila steps forward. “Wait. So we’re actually going to do this? We’re going to free a rapist, murderer and drug trafficker?”  
Denver rounds on her. “What the fuck? He’s going to kill Monica and Cinci!”  
“Denver,” the Professor intervenes, his voice grave. “It’s a valid question.”  
“ _Valid?!_ Jesus. He’s going to kill your family too-“  
“He plans to kill them, whether we save his son or not.”

It is not what they expected to hear and an uncomfortable silence settles on the room. He is painfully aware of every face turned expectantly towards him, waiting for him to be their saviour once more. But for once he stands before them, vulnerable and afraid. Not as the Professor who always has a plan, who is always in control, but as Sergio, a man who is in love, and whose family is in danger, and it gives them pause. He continues, determined that they must know the full scale of the task ahead of them. “That is what Lisbon told me before they took her away, and I agree with her. She recognised the Russian from her Police days – we are dealing with Ivan Kolarov, the most notorious Russian mafia boss operating today.” He lets that sink in. “He is an unscrupulous sociopath, and there will be no ‘honour among thieves’ attitude from him. He plans to kill every last one of us, whether we save his son or not.”  
Gloom settles over the room as the others digest this information. “So what do we do?” Tokyo asks eventually, and the Professor pushes his glasses up his nose.  
“We buy time. We have ten days in which to figure out a way to break Kolarov’s son out of that prison. We will use every second of that. And whilst they are watching us doing that over here,” he lifts his right hand into the air, “we will also devise a plan to save our families, and ourselves, over _here_.” His left hand lifts on the other side and clenches into a fist, determinedly, and it galvanises them into action. It is Palermo that speaks first.  
“We need the architectural plans of the prison,” he declares, and the Professor nods at him, grateful for the support.  
“Yes. And we need information on the prison guards. Can any of them be bribed?”  
They gather around the table, throwing out ideas, and it makes them all feel better. At least they are doing something, not just waiting for their fate.

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ Raquel stands for a moment, her own words echoing in her ears: _Then we must take away any reason for him to do so. By saving ourselves._ She knows there is simply no other option. The Professor will do his best to buy time, so they have eight or nine days to plot their escape. She lifts her chin determinedly and looks round at the others. They look dazed and scared, especially the children, and she knows she will have to use all her expertise as a hostage negotiator to not only get them out of this, but also to keep the others’ spirits up. “Right,” she says decisively, and the rest look at her hopefully, “let’s get this place organised, shall we?” _Keep them busy – don’t allow too much time for the hostages to sit around and despair._ Monica catches on immediately and joins in.  
“Yes. Let’s do a thorough exploration and see what we’ve got, all right? Cinci, you help me,” and she holds out her hand to the little boy, who grabs it gratefully.

For the next fifteen minutes they make an inventory of the objects in the basement, and it is a rather dismal list: five thin mattresses, five dirty blankets. A stack of empty hessian sacks. One rusted bucket, presumably for their ablutions. Against one wall a pipe runs down from the upper floor and there is a tap attached at the end, but the handle has been removed and it can’t be opened. Two rotting crates are stacked in another corner, empty except for the mildew which has begun to grow in the damp air. They organise the mattresses and the blankets together in the middle of the floor, as far away from the walls as possible, and then Raquel sits them down for a talk.  
“We are going to be here for ten days,” she informs them. “That is not so long, is it?” she adds, smiling encouragingly at Paula, who has been worryingly subdued. “It is important that we do exactly as they say, all right? Don’t give them a reason to hurt you. Also, we need to stick together – try not to be alone with any of the men that are here with us.” She waits until everyone nods their agreement. “Good. I’ll go and ask if we can have some water, and maybe something to eat.”

She bangs on the door repeatedly, and eventually a man hauls it open and glares at her. “What the fuck are you making that racket for?” he demands brusquely, but Raquel stands her ground. Her whole life she has dealt with men like these; men who dismissed her simply because she is a woman, and she is not intimidated.  
“Look. You grabbed us before we could eat breakfast, so can we please have some water and something to eat?”  
He has a tattoo of a snake curling around his neck, and Raquel promptly christens him The Python. There is not a flicker of humanity in the eyes that bore into hers, and she knows they will have to be careful of this one. She drops her gaze; there is nothing to be gained from challenging him. He sucks noisily at his teeth as a sign of his disgust, before yelling over his shoulder, “Bring the bitch some water.” Then the door bangs shut in her face once more.  
She returns to the others, smiling encouragingly. “They’re going to bring us some water,” she tells them, and Paula looks at her anxiously.  
“Mama, I have to pee,” she says uncomfortably, looking over at the bucket standing in full view of everyone, and Raquel immediately understands. She had to face this same humiliation whilst she was interrogated by Inspector Sierra – to piss in a bucket in full view of her incarcerators. Her eye falls on the sacks and she gets an idea.  
“Come on. I’ll make a screen with those sacks – no-one will see you, all right?”  
She moves the bucket into a corner, as far away from the mattresses as possible and then stands in front of it, holding one of the sacks. Later they can construct something more permanent with the planks from those crates and the sacks, but for now this will have to do.

A few minutes later the door opens once more and a younger man comes in with some bottles of water. Raquel goes forward to take it from him and smiles at him gratefully. “Thank you. It’s very kind,” she says, but he looks away quickly. “I’ll bring you something to eat in an hour,” he mumbles, before turning on his heel and hurrying out. Raquel looks after him, noting a slight limp, and wonders whether he is the one she kneed in the balls earlier. He isn’t much taller than her and she christens him Shorty, pondering whether he might be the weak link she is looking for as she doles out the water.

When darkness falls on this most trying of days, Raquel sits down next to Monica and stretches out her legs in front of her. She is exhausted and her neck is stiff from stress, but she can’t afford to show any weakness in front of the others. They look to her for reassurance, for hope, and she doesn’t want to disappoint them. Especially Paula, whose mood seemed to improve after getting some food into her. It was an unappetising mush of some sort of unidentifiable bean, but Raquel nevertheless made sure that everybody ate. It is important to keep up their strength if they are to engineer their own escape.  
“How are you?” she asks Monica softly, gesturing to her stomach.  
“Fine. I’m only 10 weeks along, so it isn’t really affecting me yet, apart from screwing up my hormones,” Stockholm smiles, before releasing a puff of breath. “Denver wants lots of kids, but he can bloody forget that now – this will be the last one,” she declares with conviction and Raquel lifts an eyebrow.  
“Why?”  
“Well, for one thing, I keep being taken hostage every time I get pregnant,” she says ruefully, then peers sideways at the woman next to her, aware that this topic may be cutting close to the bone for her friend. “Listen. I’m sorry if I overstepped with Tokyo in the kitchen this morning.”  
Raquel closes her eyes; God, did that happen only this morning? It feels like she has lived a year already since that awkward conversation. “Don’t worry about it.”  
Monica lays a hand on her arm. “Are you all right? Did you and the Professor get a chance to clear the air?”  
“Uhm, well, we were kind of interrupted before we could finish that discussion,” she says wryly as she tilts her head and tries to stretch the stiffness out of her neck.

Monica can’t help herself; she is fond of both the Professor and Lisbon, so she says carefully, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you, you know. That man was willing to burn down Spain for you,” and to her relief Raquel laughs.  
“I know. It was just Sergio being, well, _Sergio_ – driven by his over-developed guilt complex.” She can see that Monica isn’t quite following, so she elaborates. “It’s funny; when they tried to break me during the interrogation, they kept using two things – the Professor’s psychological profile, and a rather disturbing fascination with our sex life.” The two women grin together. “They tried to convince me I was in love with a sociopath or even a psychopath, but all that did was convince me that they didn’t know him at all. Neither of those personality types feel any guilt, whilst Sergio’s whole life is built around it.” Her face softens. “Did you know that he planned the original heist as a tribute to his father, who was shot dead trying to steal money so Sergio could have medical treatment? He was a sick child, almost constantly in hospital, and his father could not afford to pay for it. In his eyes, his father died because of him, and even though he doesn’t realise it, it influences everything he does. Including feeling responsible for developments that really isn’t his fault at all.”  
Monica frowns thoughtfully. “Like Nairobi not having a family of her own?”  
Raquel nods. “Exactly. Everyone’s lives were already messed up by the time he recruited them, and yet he feels that it is because of him. And they tend to play on that when they need someone to blame for their mistakes - forgetting that most of them would likely be in jail if left to their own devices.” She sighs. “Sometimes I get the impression that they look to him to fix everything that is wrong in their lives. And that’s probably what Nairobi did when she asked him.”

Monica lifts an eyebrow. “You’re very understanding about the whole thing,” she says, and Raquel rolls her eyes.  
“That degree in Psychology wasn’t a total waste, I guess,” she responds laconically. “And I may understand, but it doesn’t mean I like it. It was fucking inconsiderate from both Nairobi and Sergio, but what’s the point in getting angry if they don’t know any better? At least Sergio is trying; he learns from his mistakes, and I can’t ask for more than that. As for Nairobi, after what happened… I don’t want to be angry at her. I want to remember the good times we had.” She looks at Monica. “None of them have any sort of conventional frame of reference for acceptable behaviour, like you and I, so they have no idea what the social norms in any situation are. This dysfunctional family is the first time any of them has felt like they belonged, probably – the first time anyone has looked out for them. Can I really blame them if they don’t understand where the boundaries are?”  
Monica huffs and shakes her head. “Okay, so the Professor looks out for them. But it’s still a leap from that to thinking he owes you his sperm. What are we – some kind of creepy cult where everyone believes the Leader’s sperm is seed from the gods – where all the women have to have the Leader’s child, for God’s sake?”

A snort of laughter escapes before Raquel can stop it, and then they are both giggling uncontrollably. It is an outlet for the stress of the day and they laugh until they are breathless. Raquel wipes a tear from the corner of her eye once they calm down. “Oh, I needed that,” she says and reaches out to squeeze Monica’s hand. “I’m glad to have you with me,” she admits, and Monica smiles and squeezes back.  
“It can be hard work sometimes, loving one of them, can’t it?” she sighs, and Raquel nods.  
“Yes it can.” And then she unexpectedly smiles. “But it is also the most tremendous _fun_ , isn’t it?”  
Monica can’t help but return the smile, because it is true: most of the time it is incredible fun. So she nods, before adding one last reassurance. “Raquel. He’s a good man, the Professor. And anyone with eyes can see he loves you deeply. When he’s with you – he just lights up. You two seem to have something truly special. He’s _happy_ when he’s with you.”  
Raquel closes her eyes at that, remembering that last conversation they never got to finish. “…I hope so,” she eventually responds, swallowing against the lump that suddenly forms in her throat. _But for how long?_

_tbc_


	4. Day Two

_The mother is the most essential piece on the board, the one you must protect. Only she has the range. Only she can move in multiple directions. Once she’s gone, it’s a whole different game.  
_ **_Kelly Corrigan, Glitter and Glue_ **

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ _First night in captivity  
_ She dreams of him. Sergio. Of the first time she saw him again at the conclusion of the second heist, and later she will hope that it is an omen – a sign that she _will_ see him again this time too.

_It was never their intention to keep the gold. To remove it from the grasp of the government, yes, but never to take it for themselves. In the end, that was the only way that they could think of to get out of that death trap alive. To use the gold as a distraction, to give them enough time to stage their own deaths and to slip away unnoticed. That was why Lisbon had to get inside, so that she could be ‘killed’ along with the rest of the gang. So that they could be free of the endless persecution. The theatre of it was awe-inspiring; Palermo’s engineering contraption, filled with the tiny balls of gold, trundling outside to the bafflement of the Police, and standing there in full view like the Iliad’s Trojan Horse of old. The exact weight of the gold (and people) inside making it stop precisely over the hidden man-hole Benjamin and his people had dug months ago, as soon as they began planning this heist. And then the sleight of hand: opening the sides of their Trojan Horse by remote control, setting free the thousands of gold balls to skitter everywhere, and in the ensuing chaos the gang hidden in the bowels of the contraption to escape through the manhole into the sewers, and from there to the Professor’s base. Marseille, disguised as the Professor, used the chaos to careen through the police cordon with a van and pretend to pick up the gang, before hurtling away with the authorities in hot pursuit to a pre-determined point where he could stage a collision with a petrol tanker which led to a huge explosion, leaving only a few planted traces of DNA for the forensic specialists to find.  
_

_When she saw Sergio again, standing in his control room waiting for them, hands hanging by his sides and an anxious look on his face, she lost it. She rushed over to him, tears rolling down her cheeks, and barrelled into his embrace with such force that he took two steps backwards. She felt his breath hitch and knew he was crying too, and then she kissed him, over and over, not caring how many people were watching on. And later, when they were finally alone, they undressed each other with trembling hands so that she could straddle him, so that they could reaffirm through the most intimate of acts that they were both alive, that they were together once more.  
_ _“Why, Raquel?” he asked as they started to move together, his voice breaking, “why didn’t you give me up? Why did you risk them shooting you?”  
_ _She stared into his eyes, drowning in the adoration, the devotion she saw there. “Because I love you,” she said, and repeated it on every stroke together. I love you, I love you, I love you, until the pleasure became too much and she could no longer form any words._

Raquel wakes, disoriented, and it takes her a full minute to figure out where she is. Somewhere in Cuba, in a dank, humid basement - a hostage. Along with her daughter, mother and friend, because a mafia boss’ son is about to be executed. She wonders how Sergio is, whether there is anything he can do to save her once more. No. The one option available to him – setting free a monster – is not acceptable to her. She can’t put him in that position; she must get out of this herself. At least she has help. Surely, between Lisbon and Stockholm, they can come up with something. She knows, though, that they have to be careful. The men holding them are not law enforcement officers, constrained by rules and at least some semblance of morality. These are ruthless criminals who will not hesitate to hurt them. It will be better to take a day or two, try to learn the rhythms and personalities of their guards, before taking any risks. Next to her Paula stirs and she turns her head to gaze at her baby, her heart constricting. If anyone tries to hurt her, Raquel knows she will risk everything to protect her, including her own life. When Paula opens her eyes Raquel turns on her side and reaches out to move the hair from her daughter’s face. “Hey sweetheart. How are you doing?” she asks softly, careful not to disturb those still lucky enough to be lost in dreamland.  
Still in that place halfway between sleeping and wakefulness Paula smiles, but after a few seconds reality sets in and the smile disappears. “Fine,” she responds, but Raquel knows her too well.  
“Come here,” she says, and pulls the girl into her arms. “It’s okay to be scared. I am too.”  
Paula looks up at that. “You are?”  
“Of course I am. But the thing is, that is what they want. Those nasty men with the guns. And I’m not going to give them the satisfaction,” she vows. “I’m going to focus on what I can do to get us out of here, rather than my fear.”  
Paula considers that, and then Raquel feels her spine straighten. “Me too,” she declares resolutely, and Raquel’s heart swells with love. Paula is becoming more like her mother with every day that passes, and maybe that inner strength will save her from any lasting emotional damage caused by this experience.  
“You know what would really help me and Stockholm?” she asks, and Paula shakes her head. “If you can cheer up Cinci. Make up games to play with him? Like, say, you two can make animal shapes out of those rotting planks. If you scraped them over the cement floor to shape them.”  
Paula’s eyes brighten. “Yes. We can make a zoo,” she declares, and Raquel hugs her to her chest tightly, so proud of her brave daughter.  
They are interrupted by the door banging open, and Shorty entering with some lumps of bread and water. Behind him the Python stands in the door, a stubby machine gun at the ready. He orders brusquely, “Eat, then come with me. It’s time to show the Professor you’re still alive.”

_Cayo Largo del Sur  
_ Sergio slept badly, plagued by visions of his family being dragged away at gunpoint. He lay for hours, staring into the darkness, wondering where they took them, whether they are alright. Pondering how he can save them. When they are fetched from the rooms they were forced to sleep in, he refuses to do anything until he has received the Proof of Life that the Russian agreed to. Because he has to see her. He has to hear her voice, or he won’t get through this. Each time she is in danger the wound cuts a little deeper, and he fears that one of these days, if it keeps happening, it will crush him. Denver grabs his arm and he reads the same desperation in the younger man’s eyes. “Ask her to give Monica and Cinci a message,” he implores, “that I love them. Very much.”  
Sergio nods and pats Denver’s shoulder, even though he knows they may not give him enough time to do so. For as he lay awake in the early hours of the day, one of the things he regretted was not getting the chance to tell Raquel something rather important, and selfish though it may be, that is the first thing he plans to say.

He is led to the study, and as he enters he can smell freshly brewed coffee and his mouth waters. Suddenly he is aware that he is hungry, that he hasn’t really eaten since the incident, and knows he can’t afford that. He needs to look after himself, otherwise he will be of no use to those he is trying to save. There is a laptop open on the vast desk and Sergio’s heart-rate speeds up in anticipation. Kolarov glances up from his breakfast and gestures at the chair opposite him.  
“Sit,” he orders, but does not offer Sergio anything to eat or drink. He slurps some coffee noisily, watching his prisoner over the rim of the mug. “Some rules,” he announces. “You will not tell her anything about your progress, or try to elicit information from her about where they are. Is that clear?”  
Sergio nods, then says, “There’s something I need to tell her – something personal. Can I do that?”  
The Russian tilts his head magnanimously. “Declarations of love are allowed,” he states grandly, and Sergio does not bother to correct him. “Good then. You have two minutes.”

He turns the laptop around and Sergio sees a man with a tattooed snake curling around his neck, and then she is dragged into view and his heart lurches. She looks bedraggled, her hair in disarray, and he knows immediately that the women are not being kept in the same luxurious circumstances as the rest of them are. Anger wells in his chest. He will make them pay. When she sees him a smile blossoms on her face. “We’re alright,” she says immediately, and he becomes acutely aware of every second ticking past. Two minutes, the Russian said. Only two minutes.  
“Here too,” he responds, his voice filled with emotion, and then he blurts out, “You were worried that what we have – our family – that it may not be enough for me. Raquel… It’s so much more than I ever dreamt of having; how can it not be enough?”  
She stares into the camera, caught off-guard; she didn’t expect him to bare his soul like this while these vile men are listening. It is a testament to how important it is to him that he brought it up, and she is moved beyond words. She smiles, tears welling up, and can only nod to let him know that she understands. He nods too, relieved that he has got a chance to set her straight, and hurriedly adds Denver’s message. Raquel takes a shuddering breath, then says, “Don’t worry about us. We’re looking after ourselves. You do what you have to-“  
Her words are cut off as Kolarov leans over and taps the disconnect button, but her image is frozen on the screen for two more seconds, her expression resolute, before that too disappears.  
“Time’s up.”

He goes back to the others to inform them that Lisbon and the rest is alright, but he doesn’t share with them that he suspects they are being held in less ideal circumstances. He assures Denver that he has conveyed his message, and then he gets down to business. He points to a bunch of files on the table. “When I asked Kolarov for internet access so that we can research the prison employees, he informed me that they have already gathered everything there is, as they also looked into bribing or coercing someone. We need to work through these and find something we can use. And Palermo,” he turns and points to some rolls at the other end of the table, “those are the blueprints. Have a look and let me know if anything catches your eye.” Sergio grabs a stack of files and settles down, setting the example, and the rest follow his lead, some more reluctantly than others. A plan is slowly forming in his mind, but for it to work, he will need at least two people inside the prison. _Nine days left_. Christ, how will he ever get it done in time?

For the next two hours the silence is only disturbed by the rustling of turning pages, as they plough through file after file. Searching for a weakness, a pressure-point, anything that will make an employee susceptible. At some point Sergio gets up and takes Rio aside. “Rio, do you have anything we can use to communicate with the outside world?”  
The young man shakes his head gloomily. “They confiscated all my electronic devices, Professor.” Sergio sighs, resigned, but then Rio continues. “All I have left is a small reader disguised as an electric shaver and some programmable memory sticks,” he divulges, “but neither of those can connect to the internet by themselves.”  
Sergio tilts his head thoughtfully. “But can you programme one of those sticks to send a message to a specific address as soon as it is connected?”  
“Sure,” the young man responds, and the Professor nods and squeezes Rio’s shoulder.

Next he moves over to pore over the blueprints with Palermo. “There’s no sewer system that runs beyond the prison,” Palermo points out, “it’s all on-site. Because of that I don’t see how we’ll be able to dig a tunnel for access in the time available. We’ll have to find another way.”  
Sergio studies the plans, and finally agrees with Palermo. “We need to get someone in there, who can tell us where everything is and give us information on the guards.” He straightens. “We need to get someone arrested,” he declares, and everyone looks up in surprise. There is an expression of cautious optimism on his face and it is infectious; they glance at each other, their hope kindling. Has he done it? Has he figured it out? He strides up the length of the table, now in full Professor mode, and scrabbles among the files until he finds the one he wants. He holds it up for them to see: the word GOVERNOR is stamped in block letters on the cover. “We need to get one of you arrested and into that prison,” he repeats, “and then we need to find something on this man,” he taps the file, “so that we can manipulate him to put our man where we need him.”  
Marseille looks around. “Who’s going in?”  
The Professor opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Helsinki gets to his feet. “I go,” he volunteers, looking from one person to another. “I make mistake. I make it right. I go,” he reiterates, and it is clear that nothing will change his mind. Sergio nods at him, grateful, and just like that it is settled. The Professor goes to the door and asks the man posted there for an audience with his boss, and then he sits down with Helsinki and the blueprint, and begins to drill into him what information he needs to gather once inside the prison.

Kolarov wanders in half an hour later, crunching on an apple. “You want something, Professor?” he inquires, and Sergio nods.  
“Yes. I need to get a man into the prison. Today. The easiest way to do that is to get one of us arrested.”  
The Russian lifts an eyebrow. “You want one of your people arrested?” he repeats, surprised, and Sergio claps Helsinki on the shoulder.  
“Yes. Helsinki,” he declares. Then, seeing the disbelief on the mafia boss’ face, he adds, “we’ll break him out again, along with your son,” as though that explains everything.  
Kolarov stares at him for a few seconds, and then he shrugs. Perhaps he figures that with one of their own in there, the gang will be extra motived to get his son out, for he agrees without any further argument. “If you wish. Two of my men will take him to Guines, and give him some cocaine to sell. The rest is up to him.”  
Sergio accepts, but as Kolarov passes by him on his way out he grabs the Professor’s arm and hisses into his ear, “My men will watch him every step of the way. If he tries to alert anyone that you are being held hostage, that pretty little daughter of yours will be shot first. Understand?”  
Sergio swallows and nods, then turns to Helsinki. “No heroics, please,” he reiterates, and Helsinki places his hand over his heart. “I make no more mistakes, Professor,” he vows, before following the Russian out. Denver stands by the door and when Helsinki passes him, he grips the big man’s shoulder and nods, and the Serbian smiles at him before he disappears from view.  
The Professor looks after him, his first chess piece put into play, before he sits down and begins to read through the prison governor’s file once more. There has to be _something_.

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ As she is taken back to the basement Raquel takes careful note of her surroundings. Is there anything that can be useful, that can aid in their escape? She counts four armed men and she can no longer see the yacht; does that mean that they are stranded here, or is there another access route and transport somewhere close by? Two of the men patrol the outside of the house, and it is only the Python and Shorty that has interacted with the hostages to date, and she files that information away for further use. It is the Python that escorts her through the house, which seems to be in the process of being renovated as she has to step over various bits of building rubble on the way. She spots something as they pass what looks like a functioning bathroom, and she stops and turns to her captor. “I can see there’s a bathroom. Can we please use it-“  
She doesn’t get any further as anger flares in his eyes and he shoves her roughly, sending her sprawling to the ground. Before she has fully grasped what is happening he towers over her, and then he kicks her in the ribs, hard. She can’t quite stifle an exclamation as white-hot pain shoots through her, and curls herself into a ball in an effort to present as small a target as possible.  
“You are a hostage,” he snarls, “you don’t get to make demands,” and when he pulls back his foot to kick her again she scrambles to all fours and out of reach. She is vaguely aware of running feet approaching, but she keeps her focus on putting distance between her and the Python. He comes after her and kicks her again, but she manages to deflect it so that her thigh takes the brunt of the force, and she collapses to the floor with a pitiful moan, hoping to let him think she is more injured than she really is. _I am helpless, you have won_ , she tries to project through her body language, her hands scrabbling in the dirt on the floor, and then, to her immense relief, she hears Shorty yell, “Hey!” He arrives on the scene and pulls back the Python. “Are you fucking crazy?! The boss will kill us if we mark her and the Professor sees it. He said we weren’t to touch them!”

Raquel rolls onto her stomach and gets her hands beneath her, and then she slowly pushes herself onto her knees once more. A stabbing pain flashes across her nerves and she flinches and draws in a sharp breath. “Ah, fuck.”  
Shorty bends over her, his face pinched and anxious. “Can you get up?” he asks, and she nods and holds out a hand. He helps her to her feet and she clutches her left arm to her side where the first kick connected. Her leg buckles under her weight, dead from the heavy blow of that second kick, and the man has to support her as she hobbles back to the basement.  
“All I did was ask if we can use the bathroom,” she laments, and he glances at her with embarrassment.  
“I’ll see what I can do,” he promises as he opens the door and helps her inside, and Monica looks up in alarm.  
“Oh my God, what happened?” she demands as she rushes over to help Raquel to a mattress and carefully lowers her onto it.  
Raquel waits until the door has closed behind Shorty before she responds. Once she is certain he is out of earshot she moves her left arm from her side and a length of steel falls to the mattress. She grins, the pain momentarily forgotten in the face of her triumph. “I managed to get us a weapon.”

_tbc_


	5. Day Three

_We are like chess players who are trying to predict the opponent’s future moves, but in this case, we are dealing with life itself. True masters do not play the game on a single chessboard, but on multiple chessboards at the same time. And what’s the difference between grandmasters and masters? Surprises. The moves that cannot be predicted by the opponent.  
_ **_Jaka Tomc, 720 Heartbeats_ **

_Cayo Largo del Sur  
_ Sergio is awake as dawn breaks on the third day, and he watches the sky turn from black to indigo to pink, and finally to cloudless blue. It is in these hours, between sleep and wakeful activity, when he allows himself to think of her. Raquel. The woman who dared to follow her heart and her convictions, who was brave enough to leave everything she knew behind and to start a new life with him. And who, in the process, has taught him what love is. He will sacrifice everything to save her, including his soul. His _life_ , if need be. In these hours he allows his thoughts to run where they will, and today they take him back to her first month in the Philippines, when he showed her around the island.

_They strolled on the beach in front of their house, hand-in-hand and barefoot, and he couldn’t be happier. She was a vision in a white dress, which she’d bought locally, her hair kept out of her face by thin pleats, like ropes of silk, and he couldn’t stop looking at her. He didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. She came. She found the coordinates and she came. Just packed up her whole family, and came. He was still awestruck by the amount of courage that must have taken, by the amount of trust she’d bestowed in him; believing he would still be waiting, would still want this, them. And oh, how he did. He’d never wanted anything more in his life – even the heist paled in comparison. Walking here by her side on the warm sand, the thing he had always believed would be the biggest achievement of his life was suddenly second-best. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that building a future with her would be the biggest achievement of his life. She was like a refreshing breeze, blowing into his life and his house and upsetting the carefully structured, meticulously controlled existence he had led until her arrival, and he didn’t mind one bit. She brought laughter and joy and love, and sex, oh Lord, the sex, and spontaneity and fun. With her here, a future that had stretched before him without any real goal had suddenly attained meaning, and for the first time in his life he understood what it meant to live with enjoyment. He wanted to tell her how happy he was that she came, how much he loved her, so he tugged on her hand and she turned to him, smiling brightly. But when he could only stare at her, unable to form the words he so dearly wanted to say, the smile wavered as she searched his face, intuitively feeling the weight of the moment and maybe guessing what he had intended, for she laughed softly and let her head fall to his shoulder, brushing his nose with her forehead on the way._

_He smiled too, looking at the azure water over her head, and it reminded him how she had dived into that water, clothes and all, a few days ago when he had taken them out on the boat. When he’d asked her later why she had done that, she’d shrugged and said, “Because I felt like it,” and he had marvelled at the free-spiritedness that implied. It gave him an idea; he was perhaps not free-spirited enough yet to spell out his feelings, but he could at least show her that he was learning how to enjoy life, how to be spontaneous. So he grabbed her and threw them both into the water, clothes and all, and her startled shriek would make him smile for days afterwards. He had surprised her, seemingly in the best possible way, for she laughed and took his face in both hands, and then kissed him hungrily. And later, in the privacy of their bedroom, she let him peel her wet clothes from her body and worship every inch of it, and he made her come three times before he’d even entered her. That was the day he knew, unequivocally, that he could never feel for anyone else what he felt for her. That only with her could he forget his inhibitions, could he let go and just be. Just live._

The first rays of the sun break into the room and Sergio shakes off the memories, banishes the dull ache in his chest to that hidden room inside his heart where he keeps what he cherishes most in this world, and squares his shoulders for the day. The clock is ticking, and it is time he gets another chess piece into play. One, he hopes, that will fulfil more than one role, that will help him move forward on both fronts he is fighting – the overt one, where he is trying to plot the escape of Kolarov’s son from prison, and the covert one, where he is trying to figure out where they took Raquel and the others, and what he can do to save them. For this he will need someone particularly devious, particularly narcissistic, and there is only one man he can think of that meets these requirements: the man who almost wrecked the Bank of Spain heist, and who cost Nairobi her life. This is the person he will now have to motivate to undertake this task, which will require walking on a tight-rope, without any safety net. If he should fall, they will all fall with him, but Sergio knows there is no other choice. No-one else is arrogant enough to pull it off. But first, it is time for the Proof of Life once more, and he paces the floor impatiently until they come to fetch him.

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ Raquel wakes stiff and sore, and the muscles in her thigh scream bloody murder when she gingerly stretches her leg. “Ow, fuck,” she gasps involuntarily, and Monica hastens over, concern spread over her face. But Raquel holds up a hand. “I’m okay,” she assures her friend, “I just need to warm up the muscles a bit.”  
Monica nods, appeased, and settles on the mattress next to her. Lisbon has some nasty bruises and one torn nail, but she declared it a small price to pay for the prize she obtained: the steel rod. They are taking turns working it against the rough cement floor, painstakingly sharpening it, turning it into a weapon they can use. It is slow going and will take days, but it is something to focus their minds on, something to give them hope.  
“God, what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath,” Raquel laments. “I stink to high heaven.”  
“We all do,” Monica says, but it is unclear whether that is meant to make Raquel feel better. “They’ll fetch you to speak to the Professor soon,” she continues, her voice wistful, and Raquel knows she is thinking of Denver. “What are you going to say to him?”  
“Oh, I don’t know. Something like ‘Hi honey, how was your day?’” She catches Monica’s eye and they laugh together, aware of the absurdity of their situation once more. There’s nothing else to do but try to find any bit of levity they can, to keep them sane.  
“Ah, so you two actually have terms of endearment for each other?” Monica asks in mock disbelief, playing along. “Now I have a rather disturbing image of our esteemed Professor in the throes of passion, calling out ‘Oh yes, honey, yes!’”  
“No… During sex he usually calls me ‘Inspector’,” Raquel states, straight-faced. Monica’s head whips round to stare at her and Raquel’s mouth starts twitching, unable to keep it up. They both burst out laughing once more until Raquel’s bruised ribs protest and it turns into a groan. She reaches out to squeeze Monica’s arm. “I’ll give him a message for Denver today – tell him you and Cinci send your love?”  
Monica nods gratefully, and then the door opens and there is no further chance to talk.

This time it is Shorty that fetches Raquel and she is relieved. After yesterday’s events she hopes to stay out of the Python’s way for a while, for by now she has become convinced that he is the one with the instructions to shoot them once the Professor has freed Vasily Kolarov. And she also knows, instinctively, that he will not hesitate in carrying out that order. Shorty, however, is different. When she looks into his eyes she can still see a spark of humanity, of compassion, and she hopes that she will be able to use that to their advantage. No time like the present, she decides. “I wanted to thank you,” she says, gazing at him earnestly, “for coming to my rescue yesterday.”  
He glances at her quickly, then looks forward once more. “I didn’t do it for you,” he claims, trying to sound tough, and she takes note. He does not want the others to know that he cares, and she must be careful not to expose him or she will lose any goodwill he may feel towards the hostages.  
So she says, “Of course, you were protecting your boss’ interests, but I’m still grateful.” When they pass by the bathroom her steps slow and she looks at him. “And I don’t want to get you in trouble, so maybe I should wash my hands and face before the Professor sees me?” She holds up her hands, blackened with dirt, as corroborating evidence, and he looks around nervously before nodding.  
“Yes. Alright.”

He shepherds her into the bathroom and she gets quite a shock when she sees her face in the mirror. It is streaked with dirt, and her hair is standing in all directions, the humidity turning it frizzy and far from the smooth, shiny mane it usually is. She looks exactly like what she is: a woman who has been held captive in a dank basement for three days. It will break Sergio’s heart to see her like this, and it will make him angry. She doesn’t want that; she wants to project an image of someone who is in control of the situation, who believes she can get herself out of this on her own, so she does her best to clean up. The cool water on her skin is like manna from heaven, and she takes as much time as Shorty will allow her. He stands in the door, keeping an eye on the corridor, but she notices him also watching her surreptitiously. She makes a big show of sniffing her smelly armpits and crinkling her nose in disgust, hoping it will convince him to let the hostages take a shower. She knows it will improve everyone’s mood a hundredfold if she can manage that.

As soon as she is seated in front of the laptop her heart-rate speeds up. How lucky she is to be able to see her partner every day, even if it is only for two minutes. It does wonders for her morale to look into his eyes, to read his determination and love for her there. Monica and Denver is not that lucky, and this situation must therefore be so much harder on them. As she waits for the call to connect, her thoughts go back to what he told her yesterday and how happy she was to hear the words – _what we have is so much more than I ever dreamt of having; how can it not be enough?_ – and suddenly doubt floods her. Is she making the same mistake as she did before hearing Tokyo saying those words, ‘her little Professor’? Is she once again assuming she knows what he wants? Fuck, why are relationships always such a potential minefield? Her spiralling thoughts are mercifully interrupted by movement on the screen in front of her, and there he is – Sergio. God, she misses him. The anxious frown between his eyes disappears the moment he sees her, and they smile at each other in relief. She hurriedly conveys Stockholm’s message and assures him all is fine, but then she sees the Russian wander by behind Sergio, and inspiration strikes. “They haven’t let us shower yet, though,” she remarks, “ and we’re becoming rather smelly.” Making light of it, as though it isn’t that big a deal, and Sergio stiffens.  
“What?” he snaps, spinning round to glare at Kolarov, who comes closer and leans over Sergio’s shoulder to peer at her.  
“My apologies, madam,” he says silkily, “it is a mere misunderstanding. We are not animals – such lovely ladies must be allowed to clean themselves up. I will see to it.”  
 _Yes. It bloody worked._ Raquel is flooded with triumph and the rush of endorphins that come with it enables her to ask the question that has been torturing her for the last three days. “Hey, Sergio? What you said yesterday; does that mean you’re really okay with not having a child of your own?”

In the background the Russian freezes and lifts his head, listening with interest, but she resolutely ignores him. She needs to know, needs to hear Sergio say it before her anxiety will subside.  
His expression turns impossibly serious. “It’s not something I thought about much before. But I won’t lie – after Nairobi asked for my sperm I did consider it – you and me, having a child together, and it was rather appealing.” He is aware that their two minutes are up, but thankfully Kolarov is too entertained by the personal drama before him to notice. “And then I thought about what you said the other day, that love requires compromise. Well, it has also occurred to me that so far you have made most of the compromises in this relationship, so I think it’s my turn.” He stares straight into the camera. “No, Raquel, I don’t need a child of my own to be happy. I want to hold on to what I already have: you, and Paula, and Marivi. Yes?”  
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes,” she smiles, “I love y-“

The connection is cut and Sergio swallows down his annoyance. When he looks up the Russian is smirking at him. “So, it seems we interrupted a personal drama?”  
“I wouldn’t call it a drama,” Sergio counters, “more of a misunderstanding.”  
The other man laughs, and Sergio glares at him. “You want my advice?”  
“Not particularly,” Sergio mutters, but the other man ignores him.  
“Just go out and fuck whoever you want, let them have your child. Have your cake and eat it,” he grins, and Sergio shudders. The day he takes relationship advice from a man who thinks his rapist son is being discriminated against, is the day he will know he has lost his marbles. So he says nothing, but marches out and back to the rest of the gang.

He approaches Palermo as soon as he is shepherded into the library. “Can I have a word?” he murmurs, steering the other man towards the windows, out of earshot of the others.  
“One of the Russians that went with Helsinki reported back while you were gone,” Palermo informs him. “He has been arrested and they took him to La Condesa, as you hoped.”  
The Professor nods. “They take all foreigners there, so it was logical that they would. Listen. Palermo,” he adds, and the gravity in his voice makes Palermo tilt his head inquisitively. “It’s time to put my second chess piece into play. It will be a delicate and tricky move, not to mention dangerous.”  
He has the other man’s undivided attention now, and he begins to reel him in slowly. “It requires someone of above average intelligence, with cunning and a flair for the dramatic.” He sighs, as though seemingly stumped as to who can possibly fulfil this role, and Palermo spreads his hands and grins.  
“You need look no further,” he declares, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m your man, Professor,” and Sergio carefully hides his elation.  
He shakes his head. “I don’t think you should volunteer until I have explained – like I said, it will be dangerous. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to get this person out alive.”  
“So explain then, so that I can say yes,” Palermo says confidently, and Sergio knows he has the right man. That is the arrogance he is looking for, the self-belief needed to pull this off.

“I have gone through the prison governor’s file more times than I care to count, and I cannot find anything to use against him. Not so much as an outstanding parking ticket; not a single reprimand on his record. By all accounts he is as pure as the driven snow.”  
Palermo looks dubious; he finds it impossible to believe that anyone could be this clean. Perhaps the man is just better than most at hiding his secrets.  
Sergio looks at him sternly. “You get people like that, Palermo; the rule followers. Remember the governor of the Bank of Spain?”  
That was true, Palermo has to concede; despite their best efforts they never managed to break or manipulate that man during the second heist.  
“Well, this governor is the same. But I think we can use that to our advantage.”  
“How?”  
“By playing on his desire to do things by the book.” Sergio smiles, getting excited now. “This will be the first execution in Cuba since 2003, and he will want to ensure that everything is done correctly, down to the most minute of details.”  
Palermo nods; he is following so far, but he can’t yet see where this is going.  
“He has asked for a thorough inspection of the facility before the execution takes place – for a government inspector to come in a few days beforehand and ensure that everything is in working order.”  
Now Palermo begins to smile too. “So I’ll be the Inspector?”  
“Yes. We’ll intercept the real inspector en route to the prison and replace him with our own man.” Sergio nods to a file lying on the table nearby. “In there is everything you need to know about the apparatus used to perform the executions.”  
“That seems easy enough.”  
“Maybe. But that will only get you in the door. Once you’re in, your real work will start. Between you and Helsinki you have to sabotage the equipment,” he holds up a warning finger, “but only the day before our planned extraction. It will have to be something that can’t be fixed, so that they will be forced to transfer our prisoner to another facility.” Sergio hesitates, then adds almost in a whisper. “And you will also be our only chance to communicate with the outside world. I need you to contact our Pakistani friends somehow, and get them to track that yacht to wherever they took Lisbon and the others.”

Palermo sobers and the arrogance melts away for once as he is reminded what is at stake. He nods resolutely. “I can do it,” he vows, and Sergio takes a step closer.  
“Palermo. If they catch you doing either of those things, there will be nothing I can do for you. And if the prison guards don’t do it, you can be sure Kolarov’s men will kill you on the spot.”  
The engineer is silent for a moment, before turning a look as serious as Sergio has ever seen from him onto the Professor. “I disobeyed you during the second heist, and because of that Nairobi died and I nearly ruined everything. You told me then that we would discuss my punishment after the heist, but we never did. I will do this, Sergio; I will find your family so that you can save them. This I swear to you. It is my penance for that other mistake.” He grips Sergio’s shoulder and stares at him until the other man nods, overcome with gratitude, before he turns and scoops up the file.

As Sergio looks after him, his thoughts go to his family, and one refrain runs on a loop in his mind: _Hold on. I’m coming for you_.

_tbc_


	6. Day Four

_It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you’ve made, and there’s this panic because you don’t know yet the scale of disaster you’ve left yourself open to.  
_ **_Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go_ **

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ Raquel takes her turn to shape the steel rod, methodically fashioning one end into a sharp point. She works it against the floor with as much force as she can muster until her arms ache and sweat pearls on her forehead. They were allowed to shower yesterday afternoon and were given clean clothes; baggy cotton shorts and t-shirts, and she marvels again at the tremendous impact these small things have had on their morale. Marivi shifts over to watch Raquel work and she smiles up at her mother.  
“What do you intend to do with that thing?” she asks curiously and Raquel is reminded once more that her mother is largely ignorant of the type of life her daughter now leads. Of the danger, the violence, the morally questionable acts Raquel has perpetrated.  
“I’m not sure yet,” she evades, “but it’s always good to have options.” She can hardly tell her mother that she envisions stabbing it into the Python’s heart, or something similarly horrendous.  
Marivi smiles vaguely and Raquel wonders whether she truly understands how perilous their position is. For the first time since it began, she does not resent the disease that is eating away at her mother’s mind. If it shields her from the fear and distress that normally goes with being held hostage, then Raquel is grateful for it.

A few minutes pass in silence, the only sound the scraping of metal over concrete. The repetitive nature of the activity does not require a great deal of concentration and Raquel’s mind wanders as she bends to the task. Despite Sergio’s assurances yesterday she keeps worrying at the problem of having another child, like picking at a scab that has barely formed. She dissects every word, every expression of his, trying to divine its true meaning. And she worries at her own decisions; is she being selfish and unfair? Or is that years of programming by a patriarchal society talking? Years of conditioning meant to make her think that a woman’s role is only to serve others – to satisfy the needs of the man in her life? That her own needs must always come second to his? She sighs, exasperated; she is going in circles and getting nowhere, and Marivi looks at her.  
“What’s bothering you?”  
“Nothing,” Raquel responds reflexively, and Marivi tilts her head unbelievingly.  
Raquel sighs once more and glances towards the corner, where Paula seems to be teaching Cinci a song. She has always talked to her mother about everything, and suddenly she feels a great desire to unburden herself. “Do you think it’s selfish of me not to want another child?”  
Marivi stares at her in surprise. “Goodness. That’s quite a topic,” she says slowly, frowning at her daughter, who shrugs helplessly.  
“Yes I know. It’s- I didn’t think it was something Sergio wanted, but recently something happened that makes me suspect that actually he might.”  
“And you don’t?”  
Raquel shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so. Not at this stage of my life.”  
Marivi nods. “Then you shouldn’t,” she states as though it is that simple, and Raquel laughs helplessly.  
“Just like that, huh?”  
“Darling. Look where we are, at the life you and Sergio lead. Not wanting to bring a baby into it is not selfish – it’s common sense. Besides, your worth is not linked to whether you can – or want – to have a baby. And any man that thinks that does not deserve you. Remember everything you’ve achieved: you’re a qualified criminologist and psychologist, you’ve risen to the top of your field – a field traditionally dominated by men - and whilst you were doing that you overcame domestic abuse and raised a wonderful daughter, not to mention looking after me.”

Raquel smiles uncertainly. “But what if our relationship doesn’t survive this?”  
Marivi grabs her face to make her look at her. “Of course it will. Because of the way you two love each other, with such complete devotion. Some couples need a child to validate their love, but you and Sergio, after everything you’ve gone through to be together; my darling, your love is already stronger than any I have ever seen.”  
Raquel blinks against a rush of emotion at hearing the words, reminded once again how wise her mother is, and she throws her arms around Marivi’s neck and hugs her tightly.  
“Thank you, Mama. I love you so, so much.”  
The older woman hugs her back just as tightly. “And I love you. Now come on, get going with sharpening that thing so you can get us out of here.”

_Cayo Largo del Sur  
_ Sergio is up at dawn once more. It seems sleeping late is a luxury that is no longer within his grasp, perhaps because every second spent sleeping feels like a betrayal; like time wasted that he could have spent planning to save her. He goes down to the patio, where they are allowed to walk around in the open air under the watchful gaze of four armed guards. He needs exercise to stimulate his brain and to burn off the nervous energy that makes him so restless. What he won’t give for a punching bag right now… When he steps through the doors he sees he is not alone; someone else is already there, pacing up and down, smoking nervously. Denver. The younger man wears an anxious and distracted expression and Sergio hesitates, unsure whether his presence will be welcome. He knows that Denver thinks he is not doing enough to save Stockholm and Cincinnati, but Sergio cannot afford to tell him about his plans for Palermo, not yet. Better that as few people as possible know about that second, hidden plan. The last thing Sergio can afford is for someone to let something slip. The mere thought of that happening makes his blood run cold – brings images of Paula being shot in the head to mind. He is about to turn back when Denver spots him, and after a slight hesitation he changes direction and bears down on the Professor.  
“We’re not doing enough,” he announces loudly when he’s still some ten metres away, and the nearest guard lifts his head to watch them.  
The Professor closes his eyes and waits until Denver comes to a stop in front of him before he responds, deliberately keeping his voice low. “We’re doing what we can.”  
Denver stares at him incredulously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“It means we are doing what we’re allowed to,” the Professor says meaningfully, willing the other man to understand, but alas, Denver has never been the brightest of guys.  
He shakes his head, confused. “ _What?_ ”  
“Not _here_ ,” the Professor hisses, exasperated, and the light finally goes on. Denver visibly deflates, before he nods and turns away, slumping into a nearby chair.

Sergio stands for a moment, undecided, before he moves over and takes the chair next to the other man. Denver glances at him.  
“Sorry. But you know I’m not controlled, like you. The inactivity is driving me crazy, Professor. Every minute that passes in which I have nothing to do, I think about Monica and Cinci and the baby and I-“  
He stops talking as the Professor’s head whips round. “Baby?” Sergio echoes, and a proud grin spreads across Denver’s face.  
“Yeah. Monica’s pregnant.”  
“That’s… Congratulations.” He is genuinely pleased for them, until the guilt hits him a few seconds later. Stockholm is pregnant, and being held hostage, none of which would have happened if he hadn’t planned that first heist. But then Raquel’s voice comes to him unbidden: _You are not responsible for everything that goes wrong, Sergio. Sometimes, that’s just life. Things happen, and you can’t blame yourself, or it will crush you eventually._ He remembers thinking at the time how similar her words were to those Andres said to him during their time at the monastery, and that perhaps, if both people he loved more than anything in the world said this to him, there may be something to it. So he tries to shake off the guilt. He becomes aware that Denver is speaking once more.  
“…going to ask you and Lisbon to be the godparents,” the younger man announces eagerly, and Sergio stares at him in astonishment.  
“You _were?_ ”  
“Yeah, now that you’re with Lisbon, I think we can trust you with our kid,” he grins, blissfully unaware that he has just insulted the other man. But Sergio takes it in the spirit it is intended; he knows better than anyone that he was woefully unequipped to look after a child before Raquel, before she brought Paula into his life and patiently taught him what it means to be a good parent.  
“Well thank you, Denver. I am certainly honoured and I-“ He breaks off, the lesson learnt so painfully just the other day flooding into his mind. He is in a relationship, and this affects both him and his partner, and therefore it needs to be discussed with her before making a decision. “Lisbon and I will discuss it and give you an answer once all of this is over.”

They sit in silence for a minute, each preoccupied with thoughts of their better halves, until Denver blurts, “Monica is worried that I will love the new baby more than Cinci, because it will be my own.” He stares at the Professor anxiously. “That never even occurred to me – I mean, I’m raising Cinci, he _is_ mine, isn’t he?”  
Sergio is caught off-guard – Denver is asking him for advice on raising kids? He would have thought he is the last person to give advice on this topic, and he can’t help but marvel at how his life has changed. “Of course he is, you’re his father,” he hastens to say. “I’m sure she only meant that _biologically_ you aren’t.”  
Denver frowns. “But that doesn’t matter, does it?” He looks at Sergio imploringly. “I mean – you’re Paula’s _father_ , aren’t you? Even though it wasn’t your sperm that made her or anything?”  
Sergio takes a sharp breath. _Paula’s father_. The words echo in his head until it becomes like an ocean current, threatening to drag him under. Sweet, wonderful Paula, the apple of his eye. He is transported back to Palawan, to the first time he and Raquel’s daughter went on an outing by themselves.

_It was three weeks after Raquel and her family had moved into the house in Palawan with him, and he was still floating on a cloud of happiness. He was so in love, barely able to keep his hands off Raquel whenever they were in the same room, and he would probably have been embarrassed by that if she hadn’t made it so abundantly clear that she couldn’t get enough of him either. Whenever she passed within reach she touched him; a hand trailing through his hair, a squeeze of the shoulder or arm (and once also a brazen squeeze of his bum), and if he was really lucky a peck on the cheek or lips. She was like a chess player that opened with the most adventurous gambit possible, making a statement right from the off: this is how I intend to play the game, how I intend going forward – boldly, bravely, openly. And he could do nothing but follow. Not that he minded; he was glad that they weren’t wasting weeks tiptoeing awkwardly around each other. After the year of solitude he had endured it was a breath of fresh air, and it released him from his own inhibitions and allowed him to be just as bold and brave in his counter-moves._

_He was sitting on the porch step, lost in these happy reminiscences, when Paula came skipping out of the house and skidded to a stop next to him. “Sergio,” she announced breathlessly, “Mama is busy with Grandma, so she said you can take me for ice cream.” He stared at her in surprise, and she held out her hand in which some of the local currency was being clutched into a sweaty ball. “I got my allowance and I can do with it whatever I want,” she announced proudly, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was a great kid; after the first few days of awkwardness whilst they got used to each other, she accepted him into her life as easily as her mother had done. She had her mother’s emotional bravery and she let him know when she wasn’t happy, and that helped him out tremendously. He had no experience with children, and he was pretty certain he would not have been able to ‘read the signs’ to discern her emotional state, like some of the books he’d read on parenting advised. But right then her eyes shone in anticipation, so he dutifully got to his feet.  
_ _“All right, let’s go,” he agreed, and to his surprise she slipped her hand into his as he turned towards the path. He swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat and carefully curled his much larger fingers around hers. The small shack that sold the ice-cream was a five-minute walk down the beach, and as they strolled along she squinted up at him.  
_ _“Are you gonna marry Mama?”  
_ _Bloody hell. As forthright as her mother, too. “Erm… Why do you ask?” he deflected, and luckily she was too young to pick up on that.  
_ _“Mama laughs a lot, now. And I like the beach. But if you don’t marry we’ll have to leave again,” she declared mournfully with the logic of a nine year old, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. She liked it here – with him.  
_ _“Well, Paula, that’s not true,” he said, his voice lighter than ever. “You can stay even if we don’t marry. People don’t have to be married to stay together anymore.”  
_ _“Oh.” She processed that. “But what if you get tired of us?”  
_ _“I won’t.” The words were out of his mouth so fast they almost tripped over each other, and that was all it took to convince this smart little girl, who nodded and swung their linked hands merrily.  
_ _“Okay. How do you ask for chocolate ice cream in their language?”_

_For the rest of the walk he taught her how to order a chocolate ice cream in Tagalog, and once they got there he picked her up so that she could see over the counter and she ordered her ice cream proudly. She asked for two, and when they turned for home she handed him the other one. “I got one for you too,” she grinned, and his heart nearly burst.  
_ _“Thank you. That’s very generous,” he responded, and if she heard the catch in his voice she gave no sign.  
_ _“What does ‘generous’ mean?”  
_ _“It means you give more than is necessary or expected of something to someone else,” he explained, and she nodded sagely.  
_ _“Mama says we have to share things, especially with people who are not as lucky as us.”  
_ _“Your mother is a very wise woman,” he agreed, and she nodded even more enthusiastically.  
_ _“And pretty!”  
_ _“Yes, very pretty,” he echoed, and she turned to him with a sly grin.  
_ _“Is that why you like kissing her so much?”  
_ _His step faltered and he looked at her in consternation, to find her laughing gleefully at his discomfort. She had check-mated him neatly, and he shook his head in rueful admiration. “Have you ever considered playing chess?”_

_That night, once he was certain she was asleep, he snuck into her room and replaced the pocket money she had spent on the ice cream. A shaft of moonlight lit her face and he hesitated before carefully removing a strand of hair that had fallen over her cheek. As he stood gazing down at her the realisation hit him squarely in the chest: he had a daughter. And when he turned away, breathing deeply against an upwell of emotion, Raquel was standing in the door, watching him with the softest expression he had ever seen._

“Yes, I’m Paula’s father,” he answers Denver, and there is not the slightest doubt in his voice. _And if they hurt a single hair on her head I will hunt them to the ends of the earth_ , he thinks but does not say.  
Denver nods and Sergio knows he is probably thinking much the same, so he turns to the other man. “Denver. I need you to trust me. I will get them out, I promise you,” he vows in a low voice. “I’m going to need you and Rio to do some serious studying over the next few days,” he adds louder as he sees one of the guards begin to take an interest in their discussion. “You will be going in as Helsinki’s lawyers at some stage, and you need to be convincing enough not to be thrown out. Alright?”  
That is his third and fourth chess pieces into play, and it is with a lighter step that he goes inside and to the study for the day’s Proof of Life.

When he is brought into the room he can immediately sense that the Russian is in a bad mood. The man waves impatiently at the chair across the desk and Sergio sits down, his gaze eagerly sliding towards the laptop. But the Russian shows no inclination to turn it around yet.  
“We are on the fourth day, Professor, and I see no progress other than getting one of your men arrested. Forgive my scepticism, but I am beginning to doubt your commitment. Perhaps you need more motivation?”  
Alarm bells start ringing in Sergio’s head and he almost jumps to his feet, before he gets hold of himself. A relationship is a game of chess. He has always believed that, and it is particularly true of the relationship between himself and this Russian. And in chess, it is sometimes prudent to retreat in the short term, in order to win the war in the long term. So he grovels, although it goes against every instinct he has. “No. Please. I have never been more motivated in my life. But I am used to keeping my plans to myself, to prevent any unnecessary leaks of information. I can assure you I have made progress. The problem is that we can only go into action a day or two before the execution if we are to have any chance of success, so most of the work is being done behind the scenes for now.”  
“Such as?” the Russian demands coldly.  
“I am working on a strategy to get them to move your son to another facility, as that will give us the best chance to snatch him. Soon another of my men will go into action to bring that about, and then things will finally start moving.” _Please, God, don’t touch Paula…_ Sergio holds his breath, convinced now that once the laptop is turned around, he is going to see his little girl with a gun pressed to her head, and he doesn’t think he can bear it. His breath speeds up and he knows the Russian can see the terror in his eyes, and he suspects that was his intent all along because he smiles thinly and spins the laptop round, and to Sergio’s immense relief it is not Paula he sees, but Raquel, healthy and seemingly unharmed.

Her smile falters when she sees the expression on his face, the sheer panic, and she frowns. His heart-rate gradually slows down and he smiles bravely. “Hey,” he breathes, watching her do the same for him.  
“Hey.”  
“I was, uh, I was thinking about that time I took Paula for ice cream back in Palawan – the first time,” he blurts, and understanding dawns in Raquel’s eyes. She smiles gently and leans forward. “She’s fine, my love. She’s been really great with Cinci, keeping him busy so he doesn’t get scared. You’d be proud,” she informs him, and he nods and swallows against the tears.  
“I am. So proud, Raquel. Of my daughter. You know that, don’t you? My _daughter_?” he implores, unaware that a tear has escaped and is trickling down his cheek, and it is too much for her. She starts crying too.  
“I know. I knew that night, when I saw you looking at her when she was sleeping. Really. I know.”  
He nods, immeasurably relieved, and straightens his spine. “I’ve got a plan, Raquel. I think I can do it. I can get the son out of that prison, and then you will be safe, Paula will be safe, Marivi and Privi will be safe.” He sees alarm spark in her face, so he adds, meaningfully, “In four more days, five at the most, I will get him out and the Russian will let you go.”  
“What?! Sergio, you promised me-“  
He overrides her. “I remember everything you said, Raquel. _Everything_. Four days, hmm?” And that’s as much as he is allowed. The Russian snaps the laptop shut and Sergio closes his eyes, suddenly bone-tired. _Please, let her understand_.

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ Raquel is thoughtful as she is led back to the basement. It is clear to her what must have happened – the Russian threatened to hurt Paula. That is the only explanation for Sergio’s agitation, and her heart goes out to him. She knows exactly how it feels; twice now she has been in that position, threatened with Paula having to go and live with an abusive man. She understands the crippling helplessness it engenders when you think your child in danger. The first thing she does upon entering the basement is to go over to Paula and to hug her tightly, and to tell her that Sergio asks after her every day. Then she moves over to Stockholm to update her on developments. The two of them wander around the circumference of the room as they talk, trying to at least stay active.  
“Sergio managed to get a message to me during our talk,” she informs Stockholm in a low voice, and the younger woman smiles and shakes her head.  
When Raquel looks at her questioningly, she says, “It’s a good thing it’s you and the Professor who get to talk every day – the two of you are so in tune that you can communicate in many different ways. Can you imagine if it were me and Denver? He wouldn’t understand a thing and we’d be doomed.”  
Raquel laughs, then continues in the same low voice. “We have to make our move in four days’ time, before five o’clock in the afternoon.”  
Stockholm nods slowly and looks over to where Privi is taking a turn at working on the rod. “What are you thinking?”  
Raquel takes a breath. “The Python is the dangerous one. We have to put him out of action,” she says, her eyes also going to the weapon they are painstakingly fashioning. “But before anything else, we need to figure out whether there is any access to this place other than by sea. And I have an idea for that.”

They are interrupted by Paula skipping over, dragging a somewhat reluctant Cinci along by the hand. “Mama, Stockholm, Cinci and I want to show you something.” She hops from one foot to the other with nervous excitement and Raquel suppresses a smile.  
“Oh yes?”  
“Can you go sit by Grandma and Privi?” she instructs, before pushing the little boy over to stand in front of them. Once the four adults have obediently seated themselves in a row on the mattresses, Paula moves her hair out of her face in a gesture reminiscent of her mother, before she announces, “We are going to sing a song for you.”  
Raquel and Monica share a smile and then Paula looks at Cinci sternly. “Okay, just like we practiced, yes? One, two, three!” They both burst into song lustily, if somewhat off-key:  
 _Mi son alzato,  
_ _O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao!!_

Paula momentarily falters when their mothers promptly start crying, but then all four grown-ups jump up and join in. They form a circle and sing without restraint; the words of resistance echoing through that basement as they belt out the words, again and again:  
 _O partigiano, portami via,  
_ _O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao!!  
_ _O partigiano, portami via,  
_ _Che mi sento di morir…_

And the whole time the only thought in Raquel ‘s head is: _How I wish Sergio can see this._

_tbc_


	7. Day Five

_“Once the game is over,” he says, “the king and the pawn go back in the same box. In life and death we are equal.”  
_ **_Lisa Renee Jones, Demand_ **

_Six months ago  
_ _Canoa, Ecuador  
_ _It was their first night in the new house, and when Raquel stepped out of the en suite and saw him standing on the balcony, shirtless in the moonlight, something moved inside her. They’d made it, once again, and they were safe. For now. Her feet propelled her to his side almost of their own accord, and Sergio turned and pulled her into his arms as soon as he felt her presence. Hers went around his waist and she pressed her cheek to the silky skin of his shoulder, revelling in the surety of the embrace. Things could have been so different. She pressed her lips to his skin and he hummed contentedly, bending his head to bury his nose in her hair.  
_ _“Okay?” he asked, and her gaze followed the sweep of the bay, the water glinting silver under the moon.  
_ _“Mm.”  
_ _His hand found the back of her head, ran through her hair, and she buried her nose in his shoulder to inhale his musk. Her tongue darted out to taste him and a shiver went up his spine. His hand tightened in her hair and she lifted her head in response to gaze at him, to watch his eyes darken as his mouth descended on hers. They kissed chastely for a few seconds, before his mouth opened wider to take her tongue inside, and she didn’t need a second invitation. They tasted each other, shared the same air, and as always she became totally lost in him. He occupied every corner of her mind, of her very being, and she wanted nothing more than to get immersed in him completely, to have him inside her. He seemed to read her thoughts, for he picked her up effortlessly and carried her to the bed, latching onto her mouth once more on the way there. As though he couldn’t bear to be separated from her lips._

_They tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, he half on top of her, and she grinned in delight as his erection poked against her hip.  
_ _“Keen tonight, aren’t you?” she teased, and he grinned back.  
_ _“I don’t hear you complaining,” he retorted and she laughed, low and deep.  
_ _“Oh believe me, I’m not.” Truth was, she was horny as fuck for some reason, and she wanted him to have his way with her, to silence every single thought in her head for a while. For there were a few that she would rather forget. Like the one that kept reminding her that she had been on the brink of betraying him, before she saw that watch and understood that he was coming for her. No. She shifted her hips until he was wedged against her, then wrapped her thighs around his middle. She needed him on top this time, needed him to anchor her and keep her from flying apart. He bucked his hips in response, his length prodding at her opening through the barrier of her underwear and she moaned softly, ready. He came to rest on his elbows above her, gazing down at her in adoration and suddenly it was too much, and she felt a tear slip from the corner of her eye. His face clouded as he caught it with his thumb.  
_ _“What-“  
_ _But she shook her head, needing him in every possible way. “Can you just, inside…” Her hands were already scrabbling to push her panties down her legs and he lifted slightly and did the same with his pants, and once they were totally naked they came together again, and he pushed inside her slowly. She sighed in bliss, one hand burrowing into his hair, and they stared into each other’s eyes until he was completely sheathed. When they were like this, joined together and looking at each other, she felt there were no barriers between them. No social inadequacies, no secrets, no guilt or regret. It was her favourite place to be in the whole wide world, and because of that she felt she owed him the truth.  
_ _“I was about to betray you to Alicia when I saw that watch,” she admitted in a low voice, her gaze sliding away from his in shame at her weakness, but he would have none of it. His palm found her cheek and turned her head back to him, her eyes back to his. All she saw there was unending devotion and it was her undoing. “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Paula and Mama, defenceless in Palawan. She offered me a deal – my freedom and theirs if I gave you up. I could see no other way out to ensure their safety, and I’m ashamed to say I was about to take it when Antonanza came in and showed me the watch.”_

_The tears were flowing faster than he could catch them and he framed her face in both hands, holding her pinned under his eyes.  
_ _“Shh. Please don’t cry. I would have done the same.”  
_ _“No you wouldn’t-“  
_ _“Yes. I would. Everything is different, now. I understand now. When you have a family, everything changes. Your priorities, your perception of what is betrayal and what is not. Raquel, I was about to give myself up to save you just before they faked your death, and that would have been a betrayal of the others inside the bank. But I would have done it, not only because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but also because I didn’t want Paula to lose her mother, and Marivi her daughter. If giving me up was what you had to do to get back to them, then that’s what I wanted you to do.” He was resolute, brooking no argument, and she was overcome with love for him.  
_ _“Thank you. But I_ am _sorry – really sorry,” she reiterated, and he nodded with a small smile.  
_ _“Apology accepted,” he murmured, nuzzling her nose with his, and that twinkle in her eye that he loved so much returned in full force.  
_ _“Help me forget?” she asked, bucking against him, and his gaze turned glassy.  
_ _“With pleasure,” he rumbled, picking up the pace, driving into her again and again, until the only thought left in her head was to strive for the oblivion of her orgasm, to fall over that edge and to take him down with her._

Sergio jerks awake, painfully aroused and stunned by the vividness of the dream. He lies there, unmoving and breathing hard, knowing that once reality sets in his erection will swiftly subside. In the meantime he lets the pain wash over him as a sort of penance, a _mea culpa_. One thought swirls through his mind on repeat: _It is because of me that my family is in danger, and it is therefore up to me to save them. Even if that means putting my life on the line. My life is not more important than theirs._ He wonders, miserably, if other people’s relationships are as riddled with guilt as theirs. And yet they are so happy, so _in love_. It is a fucking miracle, and he is filled with gratitude towards her, the woman he loves so dearly. Surely, if it were any other woman than Raquel, the relationship would have crumbled to dust long ago.

She begged him, that day when the Russian’s goons dragged off the women and children, not to free Vasily Kolarov. He is everything Raquel despises – a rapist, a murderer, a drug trafficker. Sergio suspects it is the rapist that she hates most of all. She cannot abide mistreatment of women in any form, because of her own history. _We will save ourselves_ , she whispered in his ear, _you just buy time and save yourself_. And he promised her – how could he not? – but he knew, even as he said the words, that it is a promise he cannot keep. He knows now what she must have felt during each of his heists, when the authorities threatened her daughter in order to force her to betray him, to give him up. When it is your child on the line the fear and anguish become crushing, and he is humbled that she held out long enough each time to give him a chance. He will try to do the same, he will try to hold out long enough to give her and Stockholm a chance to escape, but he knows that if it comes down to it, he is not strong enough to sacrifice her and Paula and Marivi, only to keep this man in jail. If there is the slightest chance that it will buy his family salvation, he will take the gamble and hope that she won’t hate him for it. He grimaces; yet another thing to feel guilty about. Christ, they really have a talent for it, the two of them. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed, the erection long gone, and plants his feet on the floor. Today is the day when he begins to play for all the marbles.

An hour later he gathers everyone in the library, Kolarov included. One wall is covered in photographs, sketches and lists, and those who know the Professor well smile among themselves. It is obvious that he has come up with a plan, and now he is about to share it with them. The mafia boss, though, looks around in amazement, before the pale grey eyes come to rest on Sergio.  
“What’s all this?”  
The Professor looks around the walls. “This is how we are going to get your son out.”  
Kolarov lifts an eyebrow, unable to hide his surprise and the Professor realises – the Russian expected him to fail. He stows the thought in the back of his mind for later evaluation. Once everyone has taken a seat he positions himself in front of the wall and begins. “We are going to break Vasily Kolarov out of prison the day before his execution, and to do this I need to get all of you into the prison compound on that day, armed and ready to assist if things take a wrong turn. This is how we’re going to do it.” He points to Helsinki’s image. “Our man inside has been gathering information about the lay-out of the prison, and where Kolarov is being held and where the execution will take place. He has also gathered information about the guards.” His finger moves to the next image of a bearded man in prison guard uniform. “This man brings prostitutes into the prison to entertain the prisoners, making a handsome profit out of it.” He turns and smiles at Tokyo and Manila, somewhat embarrassed. “And that is how we will get you and the weapons we will need on D-Day inside.”  
Tokyo rolls her eyes at Manila. “And once again it will be men’s dicks that will lead them to disaster.” She grins at the Professor. “Manila and I will make convincing hookers,” she leers, lifting her eyebrows suggestively and he hastily looks away, a slight blush tinging his cheeks.

“Er, right. Rio and Denver will go in as lawyers, to see their client,” and once again he taps Helsinki’s photo. “And Palermo will be our ace-in-the-hole.” Tokyo’s face closes off; she has never quite forgiven the engineer for what happened to Nairobi, but there is nothing the Professor can do about that. He can only hope that she will not fuck up his plan out of spite, and that the fact that it might cost the women and children their lives will keep her in check. “He will be there as the government inspector that will oversee the execution, and he will have the most important role – to make sure that our target has to be moved to another facility the day before his execution.”  
Bogota nods. “So we’ll grab him whilst they’re moving him?”  
The Professor tilts his hand. “Sort of. We will actually be the ones to collect him at the prison.” He looks between Bogota and Marseille. “You two will drive the transport van that will pick up our target.”  
“You think the Cubans will just let you walk in and take him?” Kolarov interjects disbelievingly, and the Professor turns to him.  
“Of course not, and that is where your men will come in. Palermo and Helsinki between them will sabotage the execution apparatus and force the governor to request the transport of the prisoner to another facility. Then, when the authorities send a transport van, I need your men to intercept it and to hold it captive until we have collected your son from the prison in our fake van. I don’t have enough personnel to see to that as well.” He stares at the Russian, his heart in his mouth; this is a crucial step in his plan, to get the Russian’s army of men out of the way. If he says no, they will be fucked. _Come on, motherfucker, bite_ …

Silence reigns as the Russian thinks about it, eyes narrowed. _He suspects_ , Sergio thinks in panic, putting all his concentration into not fidgeting. “And where will you be during all of this, Professor?” the man asks, and the Professor shrugs. “We need to establish a communications base close to the prison - in Guines, for instance, and you and I will be there, directing the operation.” Then he adds, very casually, “It is probably a good idea to move over to that base as soon as possible, so we can set everything up.” He has been thinking about it and has come to the conclusion that if he were in the Russian’s shoes, he would have his hostages close by the prison, to ensure he can deal with them and get away quickly after getting his son. Therefore, Raquel and the others must be somewhere on the main island and the closer he can get to them, the better his chances of saving them.

Perhaps it is the knowledge that he will have the Professor within his grasp the whole time that persuades the mafia boss, for he eventually nods. “I will put my men at your disposal,” he agrees, and Sergio is careful to hide his elation. “And we already have a house in Guines, so we can move over there tomorrow,” he adds, and Sergio is barely able to believe his luck. _Fuck, he may actually pull this off_. He may just be able to save everyone else. “Good. Here is the list of things we will need,” he says, handing over a rather thick sheaf of papers, before moving away to stare out of the window, towards the main island. _I’m coming for you._

_Somewhere on the main island  
_ Raquel sits next to Stockholm as the younger woman works on the steel rod, her knees drawn to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her eyes follow Privi and her mother as they walk slow circles around the room, the care-giver clutching Marivi’s arm to keep her on course. Marivi is having a bad day and every couple of minutes she forgets where she is and tries to veer off-course to ‘go to the kitchen’ or to ‘go outside; it’s such a lovely day’. Stockholm glances at Raquel, sees the sadness flash across her face as it happens once more and Privi patiently talks her back to reality.  
“It must be hard.”  
Raquel’s gaze flicks to Stockholm. “Yes,” she says simply. After a beat she continues, “She’s been doing better, in Ecuador, but who knows what impact being held hostage will have?”  
“You said we have to get ourselves out in four days’ time - well, three now -before five o’clock in the afternoon.” Stockholm has dropped her voice even though there is little chance of someone outside the basement hearing. She holds up the rod, and they can both see the beginnings of a sharp point. “What were you thinking of doing with it?”  
Raquel takes a breath. “The Python is the biggest danger to us,” she responds, her voice even lower than Stockholm’s, “so I’m thinking we use that to incapacitate him, and once we have his gun we can force Shorty to get us out of here and past the other guards.”  
Stockholm does not comment on the violence implied in this plan; she knows they have no choice. “But what if the only way out of here is by boat? Where will we go?”  
Lisbon presses her lips together. “I haven’t figured that out, yet. We need to find out if there is a road somewhere near.” She shifts, straightening her legs. “I do have an idea for that – one of us can fake illness, and that will force them to send someone for medicine. If there’s a car we should be able to hear it, or we might be able to see from that window whether anyone walks off inland.”

Paula, who is sitting nearby, perks up. “I can do it!” she announces excitedly, and the two grownups turn to her in unison.  
“Do what?” Raquel asks, and Paula grins.  
“I can make myself throw up. I did it a few times, back in Spain, so Grandma would fetch me from school early.”  
Raquel stares at her daughter in astonishment. “You _what_?” she demands, and Paula’s smile falters as she realises she just gave herself away.  
“I only did it twice,” she says defensively, and Raquel shakes her head.  
“We’ll have to talk about that in more detail later,” she admonishes, knowing that now is not the time. Now, there is more pressing matters to attend to. “You think you can do it?”  
Paula nods, and Raquel glances at Stockholm, who gives a small shrug. It’s worth a try, she seems to think, so Raquel straightens up.  
“Right then, get ready.”

She heads over to the door and starts banging on it, shouting at the top of her voice. “Help! I need help! My daughter’s sick, please, someone, HELP!” When she hears running feet approaching she nods at Paula, who promptly sticks her finger down her throat, and just as the door flies open, she duly vomits into the bucket. Shorty pulls up and stares at the girl in alarm. “Can you bring her some medicine?” Raquel pleads, grabbing at his arm. He doesn’t seem to notice and she makes a mental note of that: _he does not think I am a threat_.  
“We don’t have anything,” he tells her worriedly, as Paula contrives another dramatic heave.  
“Then for God’s sake, please send someone to get something.”  
He hesitates, and she yanks on his arm. “Please. I’m begging you.”  
He looks into her panicked face, and just for a moment she sees compassion flare in his eyes. Maybe he has kids too. “All right. Keep her hydrated, I’ll bring you something within the hour,” he promises, before he hurries out the door.

Once he’s gone, Stockholm grins at Paula. “That was awesome!” she laughs, handing the girl some water to rinse her mouth with.  
Raquel goes over to the window, but it is too high for her to see anything. “Paula, Stockholm, get over here,” she orders, and once they reach her she turns to her daughter. “You’ll have to stand on our shoulders, okay? I need you to look out that window and tell me if you see anyone move about.” The women crouch down and Paula steps onto their shoulders, then steadies herself against the wall as they slowly straighten up. “Can you see?” Raquel asks once they are upright.  
“Yes. I see lots of trees. There’s a man with a gun, he’s walking along a footpath next to the house. Uhmm, oh, there’s the man that was just in here. He’s walking to a small building. He’s opening the door…” They all hear the car engine start up and the women look at each other excitedly. “He’s driving off in a green jeep,” Paula reports, and Stockholm grins at Lisbon. _Options_. They have options.

_One hour later  
_ When she sees him for the Proof of Life once more, she tells him about the concert the kids held for them, and how they all sang along - sang _Bella Ciao_ in full voice, to let him know they are still fighting; they are still the Resistance. “You would have been so proud of Paula – she remembered the words perfectly,” she beams at him, for he was the one who taught their daughter the song.  
He nods and smiles, but there is something in his face, something out of place that she can’t quite put her finger on. He tells her he is making progress, he has a plan, he will have her out of there soon, and she drinks him in for every second they are allowed. It is only once she is led back to the basement, when he is no longer in front of her, filling her senses with his presence, that she is able to figure out what she saw. It was a hardening of his features, almost imperceptible but there, and she realises she has seen it before. A couple of times, during the second heist, when he said some rather cruel things to her, when he locked himself inside the Professor and she couldn’t reach him, couldn’t get to the gentle man she knows and loves.

And suddenly she is afraid.

_tbc_


	8. Day Six and Seven

_“Why did you stick with me?”  
_ _“That’s easy, Alice,” he said. His amber eyes melted into hers. “It’s the first rule of chess: always protect your queen.”  
_ **_J.M. Sullivan, Alice_ **

**_Day 6  
_** _Sergio  
_ The sixth day of their captivity passes in a blur of activity. The Professor and his team are instructed to pack whatever they will need for the next few days, and then they are shepherded onto the yacht and ferried over to the main island. They are locked below deck for the journey, and the Professor uses the opportunity to brief the others on his plan for their second, hidden goal: to save themselves and the ones they love. They gather around him and he addresses them in a voice barely audible above the engine of the boat. “The first crucial step will be Palermo’s responsibility. He has to find a way to contact our Pakistani friends not once, but twice; first to instruct them to track this boat’s movements and find out where they took Lisbon and the others, and again to get the information from them.”  
“I’ll get it done,” Palermo vows.  
“Once we have that information, the next step is to gather everyone together somewhere out of reach of the Russian, ready for extraction.” He looks around at their faces. “That’s why I’m getting you all into the prison the day before the execution on one pretext or another. Once there you’ll need to get yourselves into that transport van when it arrives, and all leave together.”  
“But what about our families?” Denver objects, and the Professor turns to Marseille and Bogota.  
“That will be your responsibility. The Russian’s men will be kept busy with intercepting the official transport van and its escort, and that will give you the freedom of movement to go to wherever they are being held and to rescue them. Once you have them, you go straight to the prison to pick up the others.”  
The two men in question nod their understanding.  
“You will have to move quickly, because you have to get back to the prison in time or it will raise suspicion.”  
“What if that’s not possible?” Manila queries. “What if they are holding your families somewhere far from here?”  
The Professor shakes his head. “I’m sure they’ll be within an hour’s drive from Guines somewhere. Kolarov will want to conclude his business in Cuba quickly once his son is free and get the hell out.” His jaw sets stubbornly. “No. They will be close by.”  
Manila looks unconvinced – to her it sounds more like wishful thinking on the Professor’s part, but when she looks around no-one else seems to share her scepticism. They have total faith in their leader, and they see no reason to question his logic on this point.

“So once we’ve picked up everyone, what then?” Bogota wonders, and the Professor hesitates for a split-second.  
“You get off this island. One of the things I asked Kolarov to procure is an army transport helicopter, for the extraction of him and his son from Cuba. So you get to it, you incapacitate his pilot and Marseille flies you out.”  
“Do we take Vasily Kolarov with us?” Tokyo asks, and once again there is the slightest of hesitations from the Professor. “That will depend on whether we managed to free our families by then.”  
Denver’s head snaps up. “How so?”  
The Professor turns to him. “We have to make Kolarov believe that we will set his son free right up to the last moment, to ensure enough time for you to make your escape. So, if Marseille and Bogota have the families when they pick you up from the prison, you ditch the prisoner. Leave him at the prison. But if Marseille and Bogota fail to get them, you take him with and we all hope to God that Lisbon and I are wrong, and that Kolarov keeps his word.”  
“And what about you?”  
It is Marseille that asks the question the Professor hoped no one will, and he takes a slow breath. “Kolarov senior and I will make our own way to the helicopter and meet you there. If you have the families, then we get rid of him before take-off. If we don’t, he leaves with us.” He looks around at their faces and sees quite a few worried expressions, so he adds, “It is not a perfect plan and there are many aspects that will be out of our control, but it is the best we have.” He smiles crookedly. “Besides, I am a lucky man, as you well know.”

At that point they arrive at the main island and the opportunity to talk is over. The rest of the day is taken up with moving into their new base, setting up their communications, and taking inventory of the weapons, ammunition and other paraphernalia that the Russian has procured on the Professor’s instruction. He also insists that they practice the intercept of the transport van with the Russian’s men, gathering them together and putting them through their paces, again and again, under the mafia boss’ watchful eye. It is early evening by the time they get to the day’s Proof of Life.

_Raquel  
_ For Raquel the day passes in slow agony. She has got used to seeing his face and hearing his voice very morning, and she feels bereft when it doesn’t materialise on the sixth day. She can’t help but worry; she is convinced that there is something he is not telling her; something he is planning that he knows she won’t like, and the more time passes without word from him the more worried she becomes that he has done something, that something has happened to him. What other reason can there be for the delay? She tries to take her mind off these concerns by taking extra turns at working on the rod, and by discussing possible strategies for their escape with Stockholm.  
“We have to lure the Python in here somehow, so I can get at him,” she informs Stockholm, who tilts her head.  
“I’m willing to do it – stab him,” she volunteers, but Lisbon shakes her head.  
Thanks, but no. I’ll do it – I have the training for it.” She smiles wryly, briefly wondering what the self-defence instructor at the Police Academy will think of the use she’s going to put the training he gave her to. Oh well, needs must.  
“Okay then. I can fake a problem with the pregnancy to get him in here,” Stockholm offers, and Raquel purses her lips as she thinks it over.  
“Could work,” she says slowly, “but I think there will have to be blood before he will take it seriously.”  
“Yes, I think you’re right. I can cut myself – I tend to bleed quite a lot so it won’t have to be a big cut.”  
Lisbon looks up at that. “You’re sure?”  
Stockholm grins. “Hey, last time I had Denver shoot me in the leg. What’s a tiny cut in comparison?”  
Raquel can’t help but laugh at that, once more filled with gratitude that she has this brave young woman with her. And then, finally, Shorty comes for her, and she hurries after him to the room where the laptop is set up.

She is more relieved than ever to see his face, and before she can stop herself she reaches out to touch the screen, to caress him as though he is in front of her in the flesh. “Hey. God, it’s good to see you,” she smiles, and something shifts in his face. An almost imperceptible softening as he gazes into the camera.  
“You too,” he says, his voice lower than usual, and she takes an involuntary breath. If they get out of this, she is going to jump him at the first opportunity and shag his brains out. She will make those shadows in his eyes disappear, she vows silently; she will ride him until he can barely remember his own name, like he once did for her, after the second heist. There will only be them, him and her, and nothing else will matter. But it lasts for barely a second before his expression shifts again, once more becomes controlled, almost remote. She tilts her head in confusion, but all he says is, “We are moving into the final phase, Raquel. Only a few more days, then you will be free.”  
She freezes, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs, but before she can say anything Kolarov yells, “Hey! I fucking said no talking about your progress-“ and then the feed cuts off. When Shorty takes her back she is dazed, and she can only think about his final words, over and over: _then you will be free_.  
‘You.’ Not _we_.

**Day 7  
** _Sergio  
_ _One and a half years ago  
_ _He took her out on the old boat – just the two of them, for an overnight trip to the neighbouring island. As they chugged along, the boat belching diesel fumes out the back, she wandered around in tiny shorts and a bikini top, and he found it incredibly distracting. His eyes kept straying to her, the smooth skin of her stomach, the shape of her arms, the skin burnished from the sun, and her lovely legs. When she came over and draped herself over his lap, he acquiesced eagerly, kissing her with abandon and not caring at all that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. They necked for minutes on end, his fingers straying under the bikini top to tweak her nipple, swallowing the gasp he won in response, whilst hers made swift work of his shirt buttons and pushed it off his shoulders. For a brief moment he worried about it falling on the dirty deck, but the thought swiftly disappeared when she shifted to straddle him, trapping his erection between their bodies. Oh God, yes. He kissed her hard, his tongue duelling with hers whilst he pulled on the string of the bikini top to make it fall away. She pressed against him, seeking the stimulation of his chest hair against her sensitive nipples, and he cupped the back of her head to kiss her even deeper. Just as his other hand crept up her thigh and into her shorts, she wrenched her mouth from his and gasped, “Stop.”  
_ _He yanked his hand back and froze, alarmed. Had he hurt her? Overstepped some unknown boundary? She opened her eyes and stared at him in surprise, before understanding dawned. “Oh. No. I didn’t mean-“ She caressed his cheek, soothing his shock. “I meant stop the boat,” she explained sheepishly, “before we crash into something.”  
_ _“Ah,” he said, his relief evident, and reached around her to kill the engine. A swift glance around told him there was no other boat in sight, so he let it drift where it would while placing his hand back on her thigh. But the interruption had killed the mood somewhat and she shifted, putting a bit of distance between their bodies.  
_ _“Why don’t we go and make dinner, listen to some music, and then, maybe later…?”  
_ _He smiled gratefully and nodded, pleased that she didn’t seem to take offence at the sudden end to proceedings._

_He followed her to the tiny galley, where she set him to work cleaning the prawns while she chopped tomatoes and herbs, and whilst they cooked together they listened to Van Morrison on her ipod. She moved to the beat almost unconsciously, her hips swaying, and sometimes sang along without the slightest hint of embarrassment, and he watched on, enchanted. He even got into the swing of things when the man began to sing about a brown eyed girl, grabbing her and twirling her around, and she laughed in delight and kissed him.  
_ _“You like that one then?” she teased, running a finger over the shell of his ear and making him shudder.  
_ _“I do, brown eyed girl,” he responded boldly and kissed her back. They swayed together for a minute, exchanging sweet nuzzles and kisses, and he marvelled at himself. So at ease, here with her.  
_ _Eventually she turned away to stir her sauce and he asked, “Which is your favourite Van Morrison song?”  
_ _She grinned playfully. “It’s just changed to Brown Eyed Girl,” she proclaimed, wiggling her eyebrows and he laughed. Being with her could be such fun, he realised.  
_ _“Mmhmm. And before today?” he pressed, curious to know everything about her.  
_ _She grabbed the ipod and searched through the songs, and the music changed after a few seconds. “This one. Into the Mystic,” she informed him, and they listened in silence as she added the prawns to the sauce._

_They went out on the tiny deck in the back to eat and he gazed over the ocean, mulling over this new music he’d been introduced to. “That song - your favourite.”  
_ _She looked up. “Into the Mystic?”  
_ _“Yes. What’s it about?”  
_ _She tilted her head, trying to figure out what lay behind the question. “Isn’t the point of music that we can each attach our own meaning to it?” she countered, and he smiled. She never ceased to surprise him, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised she had a point.  
_ _“Of course, you’re right,” he conceded, “so what does it mean for you?”  
_ _“Well, I like to think that it is a metaphor: the sailor coming home to a long-lost love, having survived the perils of a long and dangerous voyage, representing two lovers who find each other again against all odds.” She smiled crookedly, staring into his eyes and he swallowed hard._ Oh _._

_It was impossible to miss her meaning, and he began to feel bad about his own more logical interpretation. But that was who he was – logic over feelings, right? “So the, uh, the foghorn he sings about, that signifies the dangers already overcome in your interpretation?”  
_ _“Ah, so that’s what this is about,” she grinned, nudging his calf with her toe. “The foghorn.” She moved her hair out of her face and assumed a stern expression. “In mythology and literature the use of a foghorn normally spells doom for whomever hears it,” she said, like a teacher lecturing a class, and he shook his head and smiled at her good-natured ribbing.  
_ _“Well… yes.”  
_ _“I see. So you prefer to believe that he’s singing about a sailor who’s about to be dashed to pieces on the rocks, and who will never reach the lover he’s coming back to?”  
_ _“Uh, I’m just saying that’s one possibility,” he hedged, pushing up his glasses nervously, and she laughed and shook her head.  
_ _“Okay, but I like my interpretation better. I guess I’m an eternal optimist.” The music changed to a slower, haunting melody that he instantly liked and she got to her feet and held out her hand. He let her pull him up and enveloped her in his arms, and she gazed up at him with a smile filled with love. “This one is called: These Are The Days, and I think we’ll be able to agree on its meaning – to live in the moment.” And then she kissed him just when Van Morrison sang ‘cry freedom in the night’ and again when he sang about ‘the days of the true romancing’, and he decided that this song was made for them, and that perhaps he preferred her more optimistic interpretation of Into the Mystic after all. She was the exception to every rule he had always lived by – including the one that called for logic to reign over feelings._

He wonders what made him remember that particular incident this morning, when he once again let his thoughts wander where they will before the day starts. Maybe it is the fact that they are on an island, surrounded by an ocean of perils, and if there were a foghorn it would have been blowing permanently by now. But he cannot waste any more time wallowing in happy memories – it is time for Palermo to step into the fray, and he wants to go over his role with him one more time before he leaves.

_Four hours later  
_ _La Condesa prison  
_ Palermo looks up at the imposing gates of the prison and feels the butterflies flutter in his stomach. _Showtime_. He glances at the driver, one of the mafia boss’ men, who has made sure that he contacts no-one else on his way to the prison. And then of course there is the microphone hidden in one of his suit jacket buttons, which will transmit every word spoken in his vicinity to their command centre, where the Professor and the Russian are listening. This will need some tricky footwork, and he steels himself as the gates swing open and they are waved inside. The governor waits for them at the entrance to the administrative block, and Palermo takes a breath, plasters an official expression on his face and steps from the car.  
“Raul Garcia, Prison Inspector,” he introduces himself with an outstretched hand, and the governor meets him with a firm grip.  
“Governor Martinez,” he responds. “Thank you for coming.”  
Palermo nods. “Of course. The government is eager to support you in this – we don’t want to fuck up our first execution in seventeen years, now do we?”  
The governor grimaces. “No we do not,” he agrees. “We have the eyes of the world’s human rights organisations on us.” He holds out a hand. “Shall we?”

Once they are settled in the governor’s office and have dispensed with the preliminary discussions, Palermo leans forward. “Governor. There is another delicate matter that I need to inform you about. Something that must remain between us.” He removes a folder from his briefcase and pushes it across the table. “Our Crime Intelligence division has picked up rumours that a rival drug trafficking gang wants to kill Vasily Kolarov before his execution. Apparently they want him to suffer, and not to leave this world in the clean, controlled way we will be doing it, because he raped their boss’ daughter.”  
Alarm spreads over the governor’s face. “I will order that Kolarov be kept in isolation until the execution,” he says immediately, but Palermo shakes his head.  
“That will get us in trouble with those human rights organisations, which the government wants to avoid.” He flips open the folder and extracts a photograph of a big, bearded man. “This man was recently incarcerated here. He is in fact an undercover operative from Crime Intelligence. Place him in the cell next to Kolarov, and make sure he goes wherever the Russian does, and he will protect him.”  
“I will see to it immediately,” the governor agrees and reaches for his phone, but Palermo slaps a hand over the instrument.  
“I would prefer if you do it yourself. No need to bring undue attention to the agent by involving other personnel, don’t you think?”  
“The governor nods in understanding. “Of course. Will you excuse me for a few minutes to take care of it?”  
Palermo waves a hand magnanimously. “By all means. Do you mind if I switch on the fan while I wait – it’s rather hot in here?”  
The governor has no objection and switches on the fan himself on the way out of the office, and Palermo smiles to himself once the man is out of sight.

_Three hours previously  
_ _Palermo, Rio and the Professor were huddled together in the bathroom, the shower running behind them to cover their conversation.  
_ _“You have to contrive to be alone in the governor’s office, and use this device,” the Professor nodded at Rio who handed over what looked like a memory stick, “to contact our hacker friends.”  
_ _“You plug it into his computer,” Rio explained, “and it will automatically send the message already loaded onto it via the internet connection. The whole thing will take less than a minute.”  
_ _Palermo turned the device between his fingers. “I’ll be wired; won’t you hear me doing it?” he asked, and Rio pursed his lips.  
_ _“Possibly. You’ll have to cover your movements with some background noise, like, uhm, an air conditioner or a fan.”  
_ _The Professor took over. “The Pakistanis will send the information back to the same IP address, so all you have to do to retrieve it is to plug that device back into the computer later in the day, and it will search for it and download it.”_

_Present  
_ As soon as the door closes behind the governor Palermo jumps to his feet, rounds the desk and plugs the device into the computer. He keeps an eye on the door while he times one minute on his watch, and once the time is up he disconnects the device and drops it back into his pocket. By the time the governor returns he is seated across the desk once more, poring over the paperwork for the execution.  
“I think I’m up to speed – shall we get to the facility inspection?”

The next two hours are taken up with a tour of the prison, and Palermo for the first time lays eyes on the little shit that has dumped them into this crisis. He also sees Helsinki, now ensconced in the cell next to Kolarov, but he is careful not to prolong the eye contact with him for too long. By late afternoon they return to the governor’s office, and Palermo sighs as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the visitor’s chair before sinking into it. “Everything looks ready and up to standard,” he informs the governor, “but you should know that we have ensured that the nearest other facility is on standby in case something goes wrong. The government is anxious that this execution is not postponed, so if it can’t be done here for any reason, the prisoner will be moved to the other facility and executed there.” The governor nods, relieved to know that there is a back-up plan in place, and Palermo watches him from the corner of his eye. He needs to get him out of the room somehow, to retrieve the information sent by the Pakistanis. He gets an idea. “What I wouldn’t give for a stiff rum right now,” he laments, and the governor looks at him and winks.  
“I happen to have a bottle stashed in the safe next door – back in a minute.”

As soon as he is out of the office Palermo rushes to the computer and inserts the device once more, but he has barely done so when, to his consternation, he sees the governor stand in the door.  
“I forgot the key,” the man begins, then belatedly registers that the visitor is on the wrong side of the desk, bent over his computer. He opens his mouth, intent on asking what the hell the government inspector is doing, but Palermo doesn’t give him the chance. He knows, if that question leaves the governor’s mouth, they will be fucked. He springs across the room and clamps his hand over the man’s mouth, before manhandling him outside and out of range of that microphone.  
“Keep it down, governor,” he hisses into the man’s ear, and waits until the man nods before he slowly removes his hand.  
“What the hell are you doing?!” the governor whispers, and Palermo looks around carefully before he answers, making sure there is no-one that can overhear.  
He grins, that cocky grin that annoys Tokyo so much, and then he says, “I am not really a prison inspector. I am here to break Vasily Kolarov out of your prison.”

_Raquel  
_ At the same time as this calamity is occurring, Raquel and Sergio have their Proof of Life discussion for the day. Unaware that everything is on the brink of exploding in their faces, they smile at each other and exchange reassurances about their welfare. But not every calamity is external; some can take place on a much more intimate scale, inside the heart, and that is what is about to happen to Raquel.  
“I’ve been thinking about that conversation we had on our boat, about Van Morrison’s _Into the Mystic_ ,” Sergio announces, and she frowns at the unexpected topic. “Do you remember it?” he asks, and there is something in his voice that alarms her.  
“Of course,” she responds cautiously, “about the meaning of the foghorn, right?”  
He smiles, relieved that she has caught on so quickly. “Yes. Exactly. I wanted to tell you that I have finally decided what it means to me.” He swallows, and her heart stops. _No. God no_. “The sailor is going to die before he gets back to his lover,” he tells her, his voice filled with sorrow and remorse, and her world collapses.  
It takes her a few tries to get any words out. “Sergio? What are you-“ she begins, but that is when the connection is cut. She sits, staring at the blank screen, willing it to come to life once more so that she can ask him what it means, so that she can hear him tell her it does not mean what she knows it means.

That he intends to sacrifice himself, in order to save her and the rest of the gang.

_tbc_


	9. Day Seven and Eight

_The art of chess is in knowing which is the most valuable piece in play, then having the courage to sacrifice it for the win.  
_ **_Thomm Quackenbush, Flies to Wanton Boys_ **

_Raquel  
_ She sits there, stunned, unable to move. _The sailor is going to die before he gets back to his lover_. She goes over the words again and again, trying to find an alternative explanation for them. Anything that will change the meaning from what she instinctively knows is the correct one – that he is going to sacrifice himself in order to save the rest of them. _No. Please God, no._ She can’t lose him, not now, not after everything they have overcome already. He is meant to live on, to be in the world, to be by her side. Surely fate will not be so cruel to snatch him away, not now that they have a chance to settle down, to lead a more normal life. _No_ , her heart screams again, unable to accept it. She must be wrong; it is only her own worst fears talking. Sergio is not the self-sacrificing type; he has a strong survival instinct. Surely he will do everything he can-  
“Hey, bitch, move,” a curt voice cuts through her feverish thoughts and she looks up to see the Python standing over her. He is the reason – he and his low-life boss, and her helpless frustration boils over.  
She gets to her feet, her chin thrust out defiantly. “My. name. is. _Lisbon_ ,” she grits out between clenched jaws, before she turns on her heel and marches out, back to the basement. But not before she sees the flicker of surprise in his eyes at her defiance.

When Raquel returns from the Proof of Life discussion, Monica can immediately see that something is wrong. Very wrong. She looks pale, distracted. Shattered. Monica is seized with an irrational fear. Has something happened? Oh God, to Denver, maybe? But when Raquel’s eyes lift to hers and she sees the heart-break in them, she understands that this must have something to do with the Professor. She rushes to Raquel’s side.  
“What’s wrong?” she urges, grabbing her friend’s arm to steady her when she sways on her feet. Up close she can see Raquel’s pulse thud in her neck, can hear her laboured breathing, and she is filled with fear. Raquel is the strongest woman she has ever met, and for her to react like this something of calamitous proportions must have happened. “Raquel,” she implores, and when that doesn’t work she adds desperately, “ _Lisbon_ ,” and finally the other woman’s eyes turn to her.  
“He’s going to sacrifice himself, to save the rest of us,” she announces dully, and Monica frowns.  
“Who?” she asks, even though she already knows. It can only be one man for it to have such an effect on Raquel.  
“Sergio. The Professor,” Raquel responds, her voice shaking, before she adds desperately, every word filled with unmeasurable love to belie their meaning, “that stupid fucking idiot!” And at last she breaks down, and all that Monica can do is take her into her arms and hold her as she cries.

_Sergio  
_ His legs feel like lead as he makes his way back to the others, the fear in her voice echoing through every corner of his mind, and he is filled with self-recrimination. He should have kept his mouth shut; he should not have burdened her with the knowledge of what he intends to do. For he is certain that she understood exactly what he meant, what that statement represented. He can’t help but think back to that day during the second heist when he heard her bargaining for her life, to the abject fear that immersed him when he realised he could lose her forever. Is that what Raquel is feeling right now, or is it arrogant of him to assume he is as important in her life as she is in his? No. He _knows_ he is, sees it in the adoration that shines from her eyes every time she looks at him, in the countless compromises she is willing to make to ensure their relationship endures. Why didn’t he just keep it to himself?! It is not fair to torture her like this, to let her live with the knowledge for days on end. But the truth is he couldn’t help himself. He wants to be honest with her, the way she is always so honest with him, and he wants her to know how he has cherished every memory they have made together. How can he possibly do that without revealing the one shortcoming of his plan, the one thing he can’t figure out – how to save everyone _and_ himself? It cannot be done without a sacrifice, of that he is convinced, and this time he will be damned if it is her. No. She has sacrificed enough, and it is his turn now.

As he is about to enter the lounge where everyone has gathered for dinner he sees Palermo and his guard enter through the front door, and he hesitates. It takes everything he has not to grab the other man by his lapels and demand to know whether he was able to do it; whether he got the communication from their Pakistani helpers. And Palermo must sense his desperation, because he says casually, “I have to wash my hands before dinner,” and turns in the direction of the bathroom.  
“Me too,” Sergio mumbles, before he follows him inside.  
Palermo glances up as he enters and opens the tap as wide as it can go, before he turns to Sergio with a grin and holds out the small device. “Got it,” he murmurs, and Sergio feels dizzy with relief.  
 _Thank God_. Thank every single power in the universe, and thank the man standing before him with a shit-eating grin. But he is too overcome with emotion to form any words; all he can do is envelop Palermo in a heart-felt hug. He will be grateful to him for this for the rest of his days, no matter how many, or how few there may be. He shoves the device into his pocket before he turns to the basin to wash his hands. “It sounded like everything went smoothly,” he says, looking at Palermo in the mirror, but Palermo takes that moment to splash some water over his face and pat it dry with a towel.  
“Yes, smoothly,” he responds once he is done, before he walks out and leaves Sergio alone to stare at his own image. Later the Professor will wonder whether he should have noticed that deflection, that inability to look him in the eye, but right now he is too preoccupied with what he has in his pocket to do so. He has her location within his grasp, and as soon as he can get it to Rio he will know whether she is close by, whether he has a chance to save her.

_Raquel  
_ Raquel and Monica sit next to each other on the mattress, staring into space. There are no words, so Monica says nothing; all she can do is be there for her friend. The tears have dried up, leaving a slight headache in their wake, but that is a minor inconvenience right now. Eventually Monica stirs.  
“Are you sure that’s what he meant?”  
Raquel takes forever to answer. “I’m sure. He’s got that look,” she adds, as though that explains everything, but when she sees Monica’s confused expression she elaborates. “I saw it a few times during the second heist – he retreats into the persona of the Professor when he feels threatened or vulnerable, and I can’t reach him; can’t reach _Sergio_.”  
Monica looks down; she doesn’t quite know what to say, what to do. She knows that to offer empty platitudes will only make Raquel feel worse. “What’s the reason behind it, do you think?” she finally settles on, and Raquel blinks slowly.  
That is the question, the one she has been preoccupied with ever since she heard those words. She knows that Sergio does not have a death-wish, that he wants to live as much as the next person, but sometimes… sometimes people feel that they have no option. Like she did when Suarez cornered her in the barn. When it was only her own life on the line – not Paula’s or her mother’s as well – she could not bring herself to betray Sergio. She loves him too much for that, and she can only think that it is the same for him now. “I think he’s probably decided that the only way to save everyone else is for him to remain behind with the Russian, as a safeguard.” She smiles resignedly. “It’s what I would have done.”  
“How do you mean?”  
“How do you persuade that thug to let the rest of the gang out of his sight, to give them a chance to get away?” Raquel looks at her. “You keep the person he values most – the brains of the operation – within his grasp the whole time. Men like Kolarov does not understand the concept of self-sacrifice. They will happily sacrifice the lives of others, but never their own. He will think that as long as the Professor stays with him, he won’t try to deceive him, because if he does the Russian will surely kill him.”

Monica nods slowly. It is once again obvious to her why the Professor fell for Raquel; her intelligence probably matches his. “Yes, I see. He will get the others away from wherever they are being held by using them to execute the jail-break. He can’t keep any of them with him for protection, or the Russian will kill them too.”  
“Mmm.”  
“Maybe he can take out the Russian somehow?” Stockholm offers, grasping at every straw she can see, and Raquel smiles at her, even though she looks doubtful.  
The Russian is a man that is used to violence, that will shoot first and ask questions later, while Sergio… is not. And the slightest hesitation will cost him his life. No. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he will need help to get out of this alive. “Maybe. But I’m not going to take that chance.” She stares at Monica resolutely. “I’m going to get out of here in time to go and help him.” _I will not give him up without a fight_.

_Sergio  
_ As it turns out he only manages to get the device to Rio once they are locked in the bathroom for their evening ablutions. Whilst the others noisily wash to cover their whispered conversation, Rio plugs the memory stick into his reader device and opens the file stored there whilst Sergio and Denver hover anxiously. The seconds tick by agonisingly while the Professor waits, hoping against hope. And then Rio looks up at him, excited. “It worked,” he says as he hands over the device and Sergio sees the route of the yacht plotted on the little screen. It crosses the Strait to a point seemingly in the middle of nowhere on the south coast of the main island, and Sergio’s heart thuds against his ribs. _He found her_. He knows where she is, and now he can save her. “It’s only twenty miles from the prison,” he breathes, before he laughs and looks up at Denver giddily. “Only twenty miles,” he repeats. “it’s doable. It’s fucking doable.”  
“Aaaah yesss!” Denver exclaims, punching the air, before he grabs the Professor and envelops him in a bear-hug.

**_Day 8  
_** _Raquel  
_ When dawn breaks on the eighth day of captivity Raquel is already awake, lying on her back and staring into the darkness, her focus inward. Paula’s body is warm against her side and it anchors her, keeps her from drowning in her worries and recriminations. For she has come to the conclusion that she is the cause for Sergio’s decision to sacrifice himself, because she took away any other option he may have had by her insistence that they can’t free a rapist and murderer. She made him promise her that he won’t do it; she convinced him that Kolarov will kill them either way. Perhaps, if she allowed him to have the illusion that he must only do what the Russian asks and they would all be okay, he may not have decided on a plan where the only option for him was death. Sacrifice. Sure, he may have come to realise of his own accord that Kolarov will not keep his word to let them go, for the man she loves is the most intelligent she has ever met, but people have a great capacity for deceiving themselves when their survival is at stake. She removed any chance that he would do that, and for once she regrets her brutal honesty. She should have lied to him, should have left him his illusions, and perhaps then he may not have chosen the path she is now convinced he has.

This realisation may have crushed the spirit of a lesser woman, but Raquel has never been that. She is a fighter, a survivor, and she is determined to overcome once more. She may not be able to come up with anything as elegant as Plan Paris, but she will do her utmost to save _him_ this time. She got him into this position, and she will get him out of it. Even if it means doing something as abhorrent as stabbing another human being with a sharpened steel rod. She is not so naïve as to think they can get out of this predicament with clean hands, the way Sergio likes to. She is convinced that this time they will have to spill blood to save themselves. And if it has to be done, then she will do it herself; she will not expect anyone else to do the dirty work. The thought of that piece of steel piercing skin, slicing through flesh and puncturing an artery is horrifying, but she will do it. For Paula and Mama, and for him. For _them_. She will sell her soul so theirs can be free once more.

_Sergio  
_ One day until D-day, until this whole mess will come to an end. Until he-  
He cuts off that thought. Best not to think about his own fate, not now. Rather concentrate on the progress they have made. He knows where his family is, and now he can do something to save them. He has deliberately held back Marseille from entering the prison with the rest, so that he can send him to rescue the women and children. Because Marseille is a soldier, a man who has been to war, who has killed people in combat. He will not hesitate to do so again with the Russian’s men guarding the families, and that is why it is important that he must be one of the men sent on this errand.  
“Professor, are you awake?” Marseille’s voice comes to him out of the dark, as though he has sensed Sergio thinking about him.  
“Yes. For a while now,” he says dully. Sleep has become a luxury that he is no longer privileged to possess.  
He hears the rustle of bedcovers as Marseille turns towards him. “I know you’re worried about Lisbon and the others-“  
“Marseille, if you are going to compare what I’m going through to you and your fucking dog again, just shut up,” Sergio snaps, squeezing his eyes shut desperately. His outburst is met with a wounded silence and he rubs his hands wearily across his face, instantly filled with remorse. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for.”  
Marseille releases a breath. “I understand. I wanted to say that you can count on me to get them back,” he says quietly and it makes Sergio feel even worse.  
“Thank you, Marseille.”  
“But I’m worried about you, Professor,” the other man unexpectedly continues. “I can’t see how, if we rescue the women and then leave the Russian’s son behind at the prison, you will get away from him. He will be furious and he’ll kill you.”

Sergio closes his eyes once more. The soldier has figured it out, like Raquel before him. The one flaw in the plan he has come up with. He does his best to sound confident as he answers. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”  
There is a dubious silence from the other side of the room. “Let me come back for you,” Marseille offers. “Bogota can handle picking up the rest from prison; let me come back here as soon as we have the women and children.”  
But Sergio shakes his head. “No. You need to be with them, to fly the helicopter. I can’t risk you coming back here and getting killed or injured – then everyone will be stranded in Cuba and at the mercy of the Russian and his men.”  
“Lisbon won’t like it,” Marseille persists, “she won’t allow us to just abandon you.” The big man has great admiration for the former police officer and perhaps understands the intensity of the love between Lisbon and the Professor better than most after being an eyewitness to the execution of Plan Paris during the second heist, and he knows she will fight him every inch of the way on this.  
“So lie to her. Tell her Denver and Rio are with me. By the time she realises that’s not true it will be too late. Tell her whatever you need to in order to get her to that helicopter safely with the rest. Those are your orders. Do you understand?” There is such desperation in the Professor’s voice that Marseille does not have the heart to argue further.  
“I understand,” he says reluctantly, and any further discussion is curtailed when their door is unlocked to let them out for the day.

_Five hours later  
_ Palermo finds himself in the prison governor’s office once more. The governor regards him warily from behind the safety of his desk, and Palermo grins at him as he points to his jacket button and lifts his eyebrows. The governor nods his understanding, his whole demeanour uneasy, and Palermo’s expression hardens and he gives the governor a warning look. A look that says, _don’t fuck this up for me_ , and the man behind the desk begins to sweat. “Governor, I think it’s time for a test run of the execution apparatus. I suggest we use one of the other prisoners, someone you trust,” he says, as he holds up Helsinki’s photograph for the other man to see.  
“Yes of course,” the governor agrees hastily, and Palermo follows him out of the office towards the execution chamber. He talks gaily about the weather as they walk along – looks like it might rain – and as he does so he hands the governor a piece of paper with a message on it. The other man opens it with shaky fingers:  
 _Leave me alone in the chamber with the prisoner for five minutes_ , it states, and the governor nods unhappily and mops the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. They fetch Helsinki from his cell and Palermo grins at him and claps him on the shoulder as they make their way to the execution chamber, and once they are inside the governor pretends that he has forgotten something and leaves them alone. As soon as he is out of earshot Palermo turns to Helsinki. “Hello fatty, good to see you,” he says and the men hug briefly. “We have to sabotage the device that controls the lethal injection,” he instructs and they get to work. As they do so he updates Helsinki on the plan for the next day. “Tomorrow afternoon at three we will do a final test of the machinery and pick up that there is a problem. The governor will ask for the prisoner to be transferred to another facility, and will ask that you go in the same transport van to be taken to your pre-trial hearing. Denver and Rio will arrive shortly after that to accompany you as your lawyers. Tokyo and Manila will be brought in as hookers by that corrupt guard you identified. They will also have the weapons we will need with them, in case there is a problem during the pick-up. I, of course, will already be here in my role as prison inspector.”

He looks up to make sure Helsinki is taking everything in. “The Russian’s men will intercept the real transport van and hold it until we have completed the pick-up. At five Marseille and Bogota will arrive with the fake transport van and we load you, Vasily Kolarov as well as everyone else and get the hell out of here. Understood?”  
“Understood,” Helsinki confirms, then shoves some steel pliers into the apparatus before them and sparks fly. He grins up at Palermo. “Machine no good now,” he declares. “Not work again for long time,” and Palermo nods in satisfaction. He has played his part, and now all that remains is to execute the plan the next day.

_Early evening  
_ As Sergio takes his place in front of the laptop for what will presumably be the last Proof of Life session, he is filled with equal parts dread and anticipation. This may be the last he ever sees of her, the last words he ever gets to say to her. The weight of that knowledge is enough to crush anyone, and he has no idea what he is going to do. The words he does want to say to her he cannot say, because it will alert the Russian that something is afoot. _The time with you has been the happiest of my life. Remember me well._ No, he can’t say those things, because then the Russian will know that the Professor does not expect to survive this. There is only one thing he can say without arousing suspicion, and he is determined that he will. _I love you._ If that is all he gets to say, it will have to be enough.

Kolarov enters and stands for a moment, regarding the man before him. “You will not tell her we are going to break my son free tomorrow,” he instructs. “It will create unnecessary stress for the women and we want them to remain calm until they are released, don’t we?”  
Sergio lifts his head. “Yes.” He wonders if the Russian can sense his agitation, his anguish, but the other man seems satisfied for he spins the laptop around and there she is, for the very last time.

_tbc_


	10. D-Day Part I

_She’d been feeling pleased with a couple of moves, had thought she was gaining the upper hand. But she’d been overconfident. She’d failed to notice his stealthy approach until he turned the tables on her with a move she hadn’t expected and now she was fighting for her life.  
_ **_Emily Arden, Lie To Me_ **

In years to come, whenever the survivors will think back on this day, none of them will quite see the whole picture. It will remain a day of fragments, where each will understand their own role in it, will be able to account for their own actions, but no-one will understand how every little piece of the puzzle fit together. For none of them will have experienced the whole; they are all cogs in a machine that, once set in motion by the Professor, will gain its own momentum and outrun them all, even the man who has designed it.

_Raquel  
_ She is up before the sun, pacing the basement and formulating her plan. There is a deadline – she grimaces at the particularly macabre appropriateness of the term in this instance – of five o’clock hanging over her. She has until then to get them out of here, to get to the man she loves. She tried to tell him, during their last Proof of Life, that she is not about to give up without a fight. That this time, _she_ is coming for _him_. Of course, she couldn’t say it in so many words, so she can only hope that he understood.

_Previous day  
_ _As soon as she saw him on the screen, she began to speak as fast as she could. The Russian only allowed them two minutes, and she had so much to convey in that time. “I thought about what you said yesterday,” she began, getting in first before he could say anything, “about the meaning of the foghorn.” He stared at her, anguished, and she could see his chest rise and fall with his shallow, fast breathing. “And you are wrong. Absolutely, irrefutably wrong.” She stared back, not daring to blink._ Please understand. Don’t give up. Buy me time, and I will come for you. _“The sailor survives all the perils and gets back to his lover, and they live happily ever after.” She swallowed. “I am absolutely certain of that.”  
_ _“Raquel-“ he breathed, her name a broken plea, but she refused to hear it.  
_ _“And do you know why?” she pressed, and he could only shake his head. “Because of the lines that follow – ‘_ Cry freedom in the night, when I’m holding you oh so tight _’. Remember?” He frowned and her heart-rate sped up._ He picked up on it _. “That’s how I know. He gets back, he’s free from the dangers that threatened to destroy him, and they’re embracing.”  
_ _And at last he managed to smile. “My eternal optimist,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I love you so much, Raquel.”  
_ _“And I love you. And I will convince you I’m right, if you give me_ time _to argue my point.”  
_ _The last thing she saw of him was a slight nod, and then the connection was cut._

_Present  
_ _My eternal optimist_. She treasures the words, holds it next to her heart, and chooses to believe that he did understand. That he will try to hang onto life for as long as he can, until she can reach him. And she _will_ reach him, of that there is no doubt. She stretches her muscles, picks up the sharpened steel rod, and lets it settle into her hand. Gets used to the feel of it, the weight. Learning its balance, before she begins to practice stabbing downward with it. She will reach him, even if she has to personally stab all four guards to do so.

_Sergio  
_ The day that will determine their fate dawns grey and bleak, overcast and threatening rain. There is nothing he can do about that; he simply cannot control the weather. He tries not to think about the multiple other variables he also cannot control in this plan, each with the potential to derail everything. Never before has he gone into action with so little control over the events that are about to unfold, and he is quietly freaking out. He lives by control, by careful planning, by anticipating every development that may take place. He has done this all his life; the only exception he has allowed to this rule is her. Raquel. Her presence in his life is the result of the first spontaneous, uncontrolled emotion he allowed himself to experience, and that exception has slowly expanded to every facet of his life she touches. He smiles almost involuntarily, thinking back to those first few weeks of living together, of getting used to the chaos suddenly being part of a family created.

_He, that was so used to having everything in its assigned place, who organised his wardrobe by colour, suddenly had to cope with toys scattered around, toiletries left haphazardly on every surface in the bathroom, and Raquel’s clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the colours merrily mixed. He spent the first few days trying to maintain the order he was so used to – moving things into neat rows on the shelves, even organising Raquel’s dresses by colour, only to find it back to chaos the next day. Eventually he freaked out, snapping at Raquel when she left her bottle of face cleanser on the sink rather than put it back in its place in the cabinet. But instead of meeting his anger with her own, she smiled at him sympathetically and made him sit down next to her on the bed. “It’s really driving you crazy, isn’t it?” she asked. He nodded wordlessly and she sighed, leaning her shoulder against his. “I remember you telling me once that you picked out the clothes you’re going to wear the day before, so I suspected this might be a challenge for you. The thing is, Sergio, you can’t expect everybody to adapt to your way of life – you have to meet us halfway. You have to learn to compromise.” She looked at him earnestly. “You can’t expect a child and a grandmother with Alzheimers to be neat-freaks – it’s just not realistic. You do understand that, don’t you? There will always be toys lying around, and Mama will put stuff down somewhere and forget about it. That’s not going to change.”_

_He felt bad; she made a good point and he took her hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I’ve lived on my own for so long that I don’t really know how to do this. I’ll try harder,” he promised and she squeezed his fingers.  
_ _“I know you’re trying, and I appreciate that. So why don’t you go and look in the wardrobe?” He looked at her, frowning, and she pushed him gently. “Go on, go look.” He did what she asked somewhat hesitantly, thinking back to the last two times she prodded him to follow her instructions and half-afraid to have a gun pointed at him once he opened that door. But instead, what he found was her clothes neatly ordered according to colour, the same as his, and he released a relieved breath and turned to her. “This is_ me _meeting_ you _halfway,” she told him. “Our room, and our bathroom, and your study – in these areas your rules will apply. I won’t leave things where they’re not supposed to be in these places. All I ask in return is that you don’t get mad at Paula or Mama if they leave things lying around the rest of the house. Can you do that?”  
_ _His answer was immediate and heart-felt. “Yes. I can do that.” And then he went over to her and promptly helped her to break his own rule by taking off her clothes and haphazardly throwing it on the floor, so he could make love to her, could show his appreciation for her willingness to accept his foibles._

She has never stopped challenging him since that day, never shies away from telling him when she thinks he’s wrong. And she did the same yesterday, during their last Proof of Life talk. And in doing so, she shattered his fatalistic acceptance that he is going to die, that there is no other way out of the mess they are in. He didn’t get it at first, when she began talking about the meaning of the foghorn in _Into the Mystic_ , refusing to let himself believe that she was trying to give him a message in the same way he had done the day before. But when she mixed in lyrics from _another_ Van Morrison song, _These Are The Days_ , pretending the words were from _Into the Mystic_ , he could no longer ignore it. She _was_ giving him a message. She was telling him not to give up, to buy as much time as he can before sacrificing himself, and God help him, he can’t suppress the tiny flame of hope that her words have kindled. Even though he has no idea what she can do to help him, he has learned not to underestimate her determination. She did say, that day when they were taken hostage, that she would save herself and the other women. Has she found a way…? He can only hope. He wants to live, he wants to hold her tight once more, and maybe, just this once, it will be okay that he is not in control of everything. Perhaps, just this once, he can trust that she is in control of part of this plan, and let it dovetail with his own.

But yesterday also brought a hint of another unknown variable, and he does not trust in that one nearly as much as he does in Raquel’s.

_When Palermo returned from the prison in late afternoon, he reported back that all was going to plan. “Helsinki and I managed to sabotage the apparatus,” he told the Professor and the Russian. “Tomorrow at three when we do the final test the breakdown will be discovered, and the governor will be forced to request the transfer.” The Professor released a breath. “Good. Well done.” He looked at Kolarov. “Everything is in place,” he assured the other man, and the Russian shook his head.  
_ _“I have to admit that I am impressed, Professor. I had my doubts whether you could pull this off.”  
_ _“Things can still go wrong,” the Professor cautioned, “if your men make a balls-up of intercepting the real transport van, for instance.”  
_ _“Oh don’t worry,” Kolarov said immediately, “I will make sure that they know failure is not an option.”  
_ _Palermo grinned at that. “I bet,” he said, before adding casually, “It’s a beautiful plan, Professor. Berlin would have loved it.”  
_ _Sergio’s head snapped round to watch him thoughtfully as he turned and walked away._

Palermo’s mention of Berlin is cause for concern, and Sergio can’t help but wonder whether Palermo has done something. Has he followed the Professor’s instructions, or has he deviated from it in a way that could bring the whole house down on them? There is no way of knowing for certain, and all Sergio can do is hope and pray that Palermo will not ruin everything once more. He sighs. It is too late now to do anything about it, and he pushes these concerns to the back of his mind and goes to the control room, to run through the plan with them one final time.

_Raquel  
_ It is almost three o’clock and the time for action is near, so Lisbon gathers Stockholm and Privi around her for a final briefing. They cannot afford to make a mistake. They will have to work together or this will blow up in their faces, and she shudders to think what the Python will do to them then. This close to the time that the Professor’s plan will go into operation, Kolarov will surely authorise his men to kill them if they should report an attempt to escape. No, failure is not an option. “Okay, this is what we are going to do.” Stockholm notices that the steel rod never leaves Lisbon’s hand as she is talking. It is as though the weapon has become an extension of her and is not a separate entity anymore. “In twenty minutes’ time,” Lisbon continues, looking at Stockholm, “you will cut yourself and make it look like you are bleeding from your vagina, that something has gone wrong with the pregnancy.”  
“Yes,” Stockholm confirms, fully on board.  
“Once it looks convincing enough, Privi will move Mama and the children into the corner over there, keeping them out of the way.” She turns to Privi, who nods her agreement. And just for a second Raquel breaks through the Lisbon façade as she adds quietly, “Please, Privi – don’t let them witness what I’m going to do.”  
The care-giver lays a hand on her employer’s arm. She has become part of their family and she loves Raquel dearly. “I won’t,” she promises, and Raquel smiles gratefully.

“I will go over and knock on the door for help, “Lisbon continues. “We know that at this time of the day the Python is the one guarding us. Once he opens the door I will persuade him to go over and look at Stockholm and then, once he kneels down at her side, I will stab him with this.” She lifts the steel rod and all eyes turn to it.  
“As soon as you do that I will grab his gun,” Stockholm states, knowing her role by heart.  
“Right. Once you have the gun, I will call for Shorty. He trusts me and I will use that to our advantage. I should have some of the Python’s blood on me from the stabbing and that will convince him of the seriousness of the situation.” She takes a breath. “We bring him into the basement and once he is distracted by the sight of his injured comrade, we take him prisoner with the Python’s gun.”  
“What if he starts shooting?” Stockholm wonders, but Lisbon shakes her head.  
“He won’t,” she says confidently. “It doesn’t fit his psychological profile. He is not an action first personality type, so he will hesitate, and that will give us our chance.”  
“And once we have them both?” Privi asks, and Lisbon turns to her.  
“We force Shorty to call the other two guards to the basement and then we lock them all inside. And once we’ve done that, we make our escape in the jeep.”  
It sounds so simple, so easy, but Lisbon knows how many things can go wrong with their plan. Still, it is the only one they have, and their biggest chance of success is to commit to it fully. “Good. Are you ready?” she checks, and the other two women nod their agreement. They are as ready as they’ll ever be, and they each retreat into their own thoughts as they wait for the next twenty minutes to tick by.

_Twenty minutes later  
_ After what feels like an eternity Lisbon announces in a low voice, “It’s time.” She and Stockholm look at each other for a few seconds, steeling themselves, before Lisbon rather reluctantly hands over the steel rod. Stockholm sits down on a mattress and pulls up the baggy shorts to expose her thighs, then grits her teeth and uses the sharp point to make a deep gash high up her leg, suppressing a moan of pain as she does so. As predicted, the wound bleeds copiously, and she takes care to smear it all over her nether regions and upper thighs. Once she is satisfied she nods at Lisbon, who takes back the steel rod and holds it out of sight behind her back as she goes over to the door. As she starts banging on it and calling for help, Privi hastily gathers the children and Marivi together and shepherds them into a corner, shushing Paula quickly when she dares to protest.

Lisbon bangs on the door with all her might. “Help! We have a medical emergency, please HELP!!” she calls, her voice infused with panic and the stress of what she is about to do, and it must sound convincing because she hears feet pounding down the stairs within seconds. She stands back just in time as the Python throws open the door with such force that it bangs against the wall, and Raquel gasps, “Thank God.” She gestures wildly to Stockholm, who is writhing on the mattress, clutching her stomach, her shorts soaked with blood. “There’s- the baby- she’s pregnant. Something’s wrong with the baby!” she wails, and the Python’s eyes widen in alarm.  
Or perhaps it is disgust, because he goes over and prods her with the toe of his boot, none too gently. “Hey, wat’s the matter?” he demands, and Stockholm lets out a shriek of pain in response, then mutters something under her breath.  
Lisbon shifts the steel rod in her hand, tightening her grip, and moves up behind the Python. _Come on motherfucker, bend down_ , she exhorts silently.  
“What?” he says, and Stockholm mutters again, unintelligibly.  
“For fuck’s sake,” he exclaims, and sinks down to one knee next to her in an attempt to hear better. “Speak up bitch-“ he begins, but that is as far as he gets.  
Lisbon rears up behind him, the rod lifted above her head, and stabs down on the head of the snake on his exposed neck with all the force she can muster.

It is as though time slows down, and she can feel everything that happens. She feels the slight resistance before the skin gives way, she feels the tip slide through flesh, and she feels it deflect off bone before it finally stops penetrating. But most of all she feels desperation, and the only thought in her mind is, _I must save Paula, and Mama, and Sergio. Please Sergio, hold on. I’m coming_. She is dimly aware of a roar of pain from the man underneath her, but she pays it no heed. She yanks the rod back out and it must have nicked an artery because blood spurts everywhere; over her hands, her chest, her face, and she struggles to get a secure grip on the rod to stab him again. Stockholm is scrabbling for the gun dangling by his side, but the blood is everywhere and it is too slippery for her to get hold of it. He does not give them a second chance. He surges upright with another roar, this time of fury, and before Lisbon can do anything he has swung round and clamped his hands around her neck, cutting off her air supply. Her arm is trapped between their bodies and she can’t get it free to stab him again, and panic consumes her. Black spots start flashing before her eyes as her brain is starved of oxygen, and she smells his foul breath, and blood, and fear. And endless regret. She knows this is the end, that she has failed, and all she can think is, _I’m sorry, Sergio. So sorry._

And then there is only darkness.

_tbc_


	11. D-Day Part II

_Chess is all about getting the king into check, you see. It’s about killing the father. I would say that chess has more to do with the art of murder than it does with the art of war.  
_ **_Arturo Perez-Reverte, The Flanders Panel_ **

_Sergio  
_ Unaware of the drama playing itself out in the house not twenty miles from where he is sitting, the Professor dispatches his people one by one, getting his chess pieces into play. First to go is Palermo, who exits with his usual swagger, and even though the Professor has observed him closely over the last hour he is still not sure whether there is something amiss or not. And it is too late to do anything about it now, so all he can do is watch his brother’s friend get in the car with his minder and set off to the prison for the final time. Next he dispatches Denver and Rio, smartly dressed in suits and at least looking the part of the lawyers they are supposed to be. He can only hope that the illusion will hold once they open their mouths; hopefully Denver will leave Rio to do most of the talking. Once he gets confirmation that they have successfully entered the prison, he moves his next pieces: Tokyo and Manila. They are sluttily dressed, and he checks three times to make sure they have the duffel bag in which they have hidden the guns. The guard has been handsomely paid to bring in two special guests for a final conjugal visit for the condemned man and Helsinki, and was told they will bring some sex toys with them, and the Professor paces nervously until he gets confirmation that the guard took them inside without checking the duffel bag too closely. He relaxes somewhat after that; at least most of the gang is now gathered inside the prison, ready for their extraction, and he gets onto putting his last pieces in play.

He turns to the Russian. “Time for your men to get into position,” he announces, and Kolarov stares at him. Now that it comes down to it, he seems reluctant to do it and the Professor’s heart thuds against his ribs. _Is he going to refuse?_ “The success of the whole plan hinges on this,” he insists, and Kolarov lights yet another cigarette before he responds.  
“And what about these two?” he asks, gesturing to Bogota and Marseille. “When are they going?”  
And now the Professor understands. Kolarov suspects that it is a trap, that the Professor wants to get him alone with the two other men present, and he hastens to allay those fears. “They are leaving right now, along with your men,” he announces, and the Russian’s shoulders relax.  
He waves a hand at one of his men. “Gather everyone – it’s time to go.” The goon does so, but one man stays behind, a semi-automatic in his hands, and Marseille looks at the Professor worriedly. _Fuck_. If it were only Kolarov to take care of, he could have fooled himself that the Professor will get out somehow, but with two of them, both heavily armed, he has no such illusions. But the Professor ignores his beseeching look and simply orders, “Go,” and Marseille can do nothing but follow Bogota out to the waiting van. He looks back once he reaches the door, to see the Professor stand alone in the middle of the room, his arms hanging by his sides, looking both hopeful and forlorn at once, and it is with a heavy heart that he turns away, sure he will never see him alive again.

_Raquel  
_ As her brain begins to shut down from lack of oxygen and everything goes dark, her life flashes before her eyes. Laughing with Paula and Mama, making love with Sergio; all the things that are good and pure in her life, about to end. _No_. She gathers herself for one final effort, and when she strains with all her might to push against her assailant’s much bigger bulk, an agonised scream ripping from her throat in the process, it seems to stir the others into action. Stockholm bounces to her feet and throws her weight into the struggle, and then Privi and Marivi rushes across the room to do the same. Next come the children, all hurling themselves into the fray with animalistic howls of anger and fear, and their combined effort is enough to force the Python to take a step back. He slips in his own blood and falls backwards, and there is a dull crack as his head hits the tap against the wall. They tumble to the floor in a heap and his hands slip from Lisbon’s throat, and she gasps air into her screaming lungs.

It takes a few seconds to disentangle themselves, and she slowly pushes onto all fours once she is free, coughing painfully. Her windpipe feels as though it is on fire, and she makes an effort to normalise her breathing, to stop drawing in gulping breaths that burn all the way into her lungs. Beside her the Python lies unmoving, and she lets her head drop onto her forearms with a soft moan. “Fuck,” she rasps. But there is blood here too, so she pushes upright once more. Her eyes are slowly focussing and she looks up to see the others stand in a circle around them, concern etched on their faces. Stockholm has the Python’s gun in her hands and Lisbon finally allows herself to relax. She holds up a hand and Privi rushes forward to help her up. Once she is upright on wobbly legs, she looks around at them. “Thanks for the help.”  
“Jesus, are you okay?” Stockholm asks worriedly, and when Lisbon looks down at herself she understands why. She is spattered all over with blood, and she probably has red welts on her neck from the Python’s hands. She must be a frightening sight.  
“Yes. I’m okay. We have to get moving with the next phase,” she says, but then Paula asks in a small voice, “Is he dead?”

Lisbon hesitates. She tries to tell herself that she really doesn’t give a fuck, not right now, but when she glances down reluctantly and sees his chest moving, she feels a tendril of relief. He’s still breathing, but she doesn’t know for how much longer. He has lost a lot of blood. “No sweetie, he’s not dead. Just unconscious,” she says soothingly, then looks around vaguely. “But we should probably dress that wound and stop the bleeding.”  
“I’ll do it,” Marivi declares and Raquel looks at her in surprise, to find an expression of determination on her mother’s face. It turns to admiration as she meets her daughter’s gaze and adds, “You go and do what you have to, I’ll take care of this.” Lisbon nods at her gratefully before she turns back to Stockholm. “Get ready, I’m going to fetch Shorty.”

As it turns out she doesn’t have to go far, for as soon as she rounds the first corner he appears, a worried look on his face. Perhaps he heard their screams. The worry turns to horror when she looms up in front of him, covered in blood, and she uses his shock to her advantage. _Don’t give him time to think, keep him off-balance_. “Come quick,” she urges, and her raspy voice unsettles him even further. “The other guard, he- he attacked my friend, and when we tried to stop him he hit his head and he’s just lying there, and there’s a lot of blood, you have to help us…” As she talks she drags him along and he stumbles after her, clean forgetting to hold his gun at the ready. It dangles from its strap by his side and Lisbon makes sure that is the side she is on, and then they are through the door and Shorty freezes and stares at his companion in shock.  
“Oh my God, is he…?”  
“No, he’s alive, but you need to get him to a doctor quickly. You better call those other two guys to come and help,” she suggests, and he immediately grabs for his walkie-talkie and calls them to the basement.  
As he brushes past her to get to the fallen man, he is brought up short as a gun cocks loudly behind him and Stockholm says, “Stop right there.”  
At the same time Lisbon neatly divests him of his own gun and cocks it too. She pulls him out of the line of sight from the door and orders, “On your knees,” and he obeys without question, fear and confusion in his eyes. Privi comes over to gag him and bind his hands with strips they have torn from their old clothing, and then Lisbon and Stockholm take up station on either side of the door and wait for the other two guards to appear.

When they hear footsteps running down the stairs Lisbon nods at Stockholm and takes a steadying breath. The two men burst through the door and look around, expecting to see their comrade waiting for them, but instead the door closes behind them and when they spin around they are confronted with two blood-spattered women holding guns. It is the older one that speaks. “Drop your guns,” she orders, her voice firm and unwavering, and it makes them hesitate. Her gaze flicks from one to the other, reading their intent, and she sees that the one on the right immediately obeys. The one on the left, nearest to Stockholm, though, begins to move his finger into the trigger guard, and Lisbon shouts a warning. There is a loud bang and her heart stops, for a moment believing that he has shot Stockholm, but then he crumples to the ground with a howl of pain, clutching his leg, and she sees the smoke curl from the barrel of the gun in her friend’s hands. It is enough to convince the other guard that they mean business and he hastily drops his gun and falls to his knees, and for the first time Lisbon allows herself a spark of hope.

She moves over to Shorty whilst Privi and Stockholm tie up the other men and shoves the barrel of her rifle against his cheek. “Where are the keys for the jeep?”  
His eyes swivel towards her, filled with fear. “In his pocket,” he responds, pointing his chin in the Python’s direction. Stockholm moves over and searches through the prone man’s pockets, and once she holds up the keys Lisbon turns back to Shorty.  
“Which way to Guines?” she demands brusquely, and he closes his eyes.  
“I can’t – they will kill me,” he pleads miserably, but she shoves the gun into his cheek even harder until he flinches in pain.  
“I don’t give a fuck,” she grinds out, and for the first time her desperation can be heard in her voice. “Your boss is going to kill the man I love unless I can get there to help him. So which way?!”  
He looks at her then, remorse in his eyes. _West_ , he mouths, before saying out loud, “I won’t-“  
She hits him across the face, making it look more forceful than it was, before she bends down. “Thank you,” she whispers, before snarling more loudly, “Fuck you, asshole! I’ll find it myself!”, before she gathers everyone and shepherds them out, locking the door behind them.

Five minutes later they have piled into the jeep, and Lisbon rams her foot down on the accelerator. Gravel spurts as the wheels grapple for purchase, and then they are off down the dirt track, the others hanging on for dear life. Stockholm glances at Lisbon’s face, at the determined set of her jaw, at the fear in her eyes, and hopes against hope that they will be in time, that they will be able to help the Professor before it is too late. If any couple in the world deserves more time together, she thinks wistfully, it is Lisbon and the Professor. The track straightens out and she can see the main road up ahead and her heart lifts – they will make good time on the tarred surface – but just then a police van turns onto the track and blocks their path, and Lisbon slams on the brakes so violently that everyone is thrown forward from their seats. The jeep slithers on the loose ground and Stockholm fears they will not stop in time, that they will crash head-on into the van, but at the last second Lisbon wrenches the steering wheel and they turn sideways, finally coming to a stop inches from the nose of the van. When Stockholm eventually comes to her senses she looks up at the driver of the van, and then she gasps, “Bogota?!”

_La Condesa prison  
_ At the prison, meanwhile, things are going like clockwork. At three o’clock they discover the problem with the apparatus and the governor duly requests the transfer of the condemned man to the other facility. Helsinki’s ‘lawyers’ meet with him and get him ready for his pre-trial hearing, and the guard listening in does not notice anything untoward. Rio and Denver have studied hard and they throw around the legal terms with aplomb. They are informed that they can accompany their client in the transport van that will leave at five o’clock. Just after four the corrupt guard brings two hookers up to where Vasily Kolarov and Helsinki are waiting for the transport to arrive, and leaves them and their duffel bag with the prisoners and the two lawyers. Tokyo and Manila distribute weapons to the others, who conceal them on their persons until needed. They do not give Kolarov junior one. Perhaps a more suspicious mind would have wondered at how smoothly everything is going, but none of the roleplayers involved do. They simply accept their good luck and go with it. Not even Kolarov senior questions it, for he is a thug rather than a chess player. No, it is only the Professor that knows, that realises the whole thing is a sham. And he also knows why: because of Palermo. _It’s a beautiful plan, Professor. Berlin would have loved it._

Berlin.

_Two days previously  
_ _Once Rio had explained how the devices worked he left the two men alone in the bathroom, and the Professor took a breath. “I need to tell you about Plan Berlin,” he said to Palermo, whose head rose sharply at the mention of the man he had been in love with for so long.  
_ _"What’s Plan Berlin?”  
_ _“It’s a back-up plan, in case things should go wrong and you are discovered by the governor.” Palermo lifted his eyebrows, waiting, and the Professor continued almost reluctantly. “If he should catch you in the act of either using his computer or sabotaging the equipment, I want you to confess everything.”  
_ _The engineer stared at him. “You want me to what?”  
_ _“To confess everything. The whole plan to break Vasily Kolarov out of prison,” the Professor repeated, before he added, “and then I want you to ask for his help.”  
_ _Palermo shook his head. “Professor. The stress has got to you. You’ve gone mad – why the fuck would he help us?”  
_ _“…Because his daughter is a rape victim,” the Professor divulged.  
_ _“She is?” Palermo said in surprise. “But won’t that give him even more reason not to help us set free a rapist?”  
_ _“Yes. But that’s not what you will ask him to do. You will ask him to help us to thwart the attempted jailbreak.”_

_Present  
_ As the Professor sits in the control room and listens to the developments, he knows that everything is going as smoothly as it is because Palermo activated Plan Berlin for some unknown reason. But what he doesn’t know is whether Palermo stuck strictly to the plan, or whether he improvised. For now, though, things are going swimmingly because the governor has ensured that it does. He has made sure that no-one asks questions about the lawyers, the hookers or their duffel bag, and that no-one will search the transport van that will come to pick up the prisoner. If Plan Berlin is implemented as the Professor envisioned it, the governor will allow everything to go as planned right up to the moment the prisoner is to be loaded into the van, and then things will go very wrong. And at that moment Palermo’s role will become crucial. If he sees that Lisbon and the others are in the van he must ensure that Vasily Kolarov does not enter it at any cost. However, if he sees they are not there he needs to get Kolarov into that van alive, somehow. Either way it will be the most dangerous moment of the whole endeavour, and the Professor’s stomach knots with tension as it inexorably approaches. There is, of course, another reason why this is a crucial moment for him personally, because Palermo’s reaction will tell him whether Raquel and the others are safe, whether Marseille and Bogota managed to rescue them. With Kolarov in the control room with him the whole time, listening in, he cannot risk any communication from them before that. He glances at the clock against the wall: 16:55. _Oh Christ, please let them be in that van_ , he prays fervently, and he is so focused on the comms that he does not notice Kolarov’s man enter the control room and take up station behind him, gun at the ready.

Palermo stands in the courtyard of the prison with the governor, waiting for the van to arrive. He is filled with nervous energy, conscious of the crucial role he is about to play, and hoping fervently that Marseille and Bogota managed to rescue the women and children. For Sergio’s sake, and for Denver’s. He knows what it feels like to lose the love of your life, and he does not want them to suffer the same fate. Especially Sergio. He has a soft spot for Andres’ younger brother; so clever and sweet, but so socially inept. When he first found out about Sergio’s relationship with Lisbon, he was astounded. He could not fathom how Sergio was able to get a woman like Lisbon to fall in love with him. It was only when he had the opportunity to observe them together, that he saw how different Sergio is with her, how at ease and comfortable. They fit together so well, are so devoted to one another, that he does not want to think of one having to live without the other. He has been a bit of an asshole most of his life, and he is still ashamed at what he did during that second heist, but today he has the chance to make up for all of that. So when the van swings into the courtyard and he sees Stockholm seated next to Bogota in the front, her hair hidden under a cap, his heart lurches with joy. They are safe; Sergio will get the woman he loves back safe and sound.

He does not wait any longer, but turns around to gesture at Helsinki and his lawyers waiting behind him. “Load them up,” he orders, “and bring Kolarov out.” The guard unlocks the door and Vasily Kolarov steps out, and behind him Palermo sees Tokyo and Manila hover. He nods at them with a cocky grin, and with a last look at the governor he walks over to the condemned man. When he reaches him he clamps a hand over the microphone in his button before he whispers, “This is far as you go, you piece of shit,” and Tokyo hears and begins to smile. She knows that it means that Lisbon and the others are safe. She surreptitiously hands Palermo a pistol, but that is the moment when things finally go awry.

The Professor and Kolarov listen to developments anxiously and hear Palermo call for the Russian’s son to be brought to the van. Kolarov senior grins and claps the Professor on the shoulder, but Sergio cannot yet relax. _Are they safe? Have they got them?_ There is no indication yet, and he feels as though he is about to have a heart attack. And then one alert guard, planted strategically by the governor, ruins everything. He takes a close look at the van and notices that one of the police stickers are peeling off, and underneath he sees the logo of a well-known plumbing business that belongs to Ivan Kolarov. He shouts a warning and grabs for his gun, and then it is chaos.

Palermo is seemingly the first to realise that they are fucked, and he reacts with lightning speed. He yanks Vasily Kolarov in front of him and presses the gun to his head. “Get behind me,” he tells the two women, before he starts to drag Kolarov across the courtyard. “Nobody move, or I will blow his head off!” he yells, and every weapon in the courtyard becomes trained on them. Tokyo and Manila uncover their own weapons and cover his back as they move towards the van.  
“Nobody shoot!” the governor orders anxiously, holding out his hands, and Palermo grins and nods.  
“That’s it, listen to the boss-man now,” he says, and they slowly make their way across the open space.  
In the control room the Professor has jumped to his feet and the blood has drained from the Russian’s face. And still Sergio does not know whether his family is safe.  
They reach the van and Palermo hears the two women clamber in, but he makes no move to follow. Instead he says, “Now, governor, Vasily and I will stay right here, and you will order your men to let the van go. That way you get to keep your prisoner and we don’t turn this into a bloodbath, hmm?”  
That is when Sergio knows. Raquel is safe, and Paula and Marivi and the rest, and tears fill his eyes. He is only vaguely aware of the furious roar of the Russian beside him, of the word ‘traitor’ being screamed, but he does not care. Whatever happens from here on forward, he is at peace, for the people he loves most in this world are safe, and that is all that matters.

Tokyo is the first that realises what Palermo is doing, and she screams at him to get into the van, but he shakes his head. He knows as soon as he lets the prisoner go the guards will start shooting and then they will all die. “Go!” he yells at Bogota, and the big man has no option but to obey. As the van begins to pull away, leaving Palermo stranded in the courtyard with a multitude of guns pointed at him, he looks at Tokyo and smiles one last time – a strangely peaceful smile in the circumstances. And just as they are about to turn through the gates she sees Palermo make a break for it, the prisoner still held in front of him like a shield. She sees the sniper on the roof, sees the high-calibre gun recoil as the man pulls the trigger, and sees the bullet tear through both Kolarov and Palermo. She watches them fall to the ground before she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back against the side of the van, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Sergio and the Russian also hears the echo of the shot, hears both men grunt and fall, and for a few seconds there is total silence, before they hear running feet and a babble of voices.  
“What the fuck have you done?” Kolarov screams at the Professor, who looks up and squarely into the barrel of a gun.  
So this is it – this how it ends, Sergio thinks, and everything fades away but the black hole trained between his eyes. He vaguely hears an unknown voice declare both men dead at the scene and is filled with grief for Palermo, and he sees tears roll down Kolarov’s cheeks at the loss of his son. But Raquel is safe, he managed to save her one last time, and that is all he cares about.  
 _I love you, Raquel_ , he thinks, as he looks down the barrel and sees the man’s finger begin to curl around the trigger, _I love you more than life itself_ , and then he closes his eyes and waits for the end to come.

_tbc_


	12. Here and Now

_“Pawns are such fascinating pieces, too… So small, almost insignificant, and yet – they can depose kings. Don’t you find that interesting?”  
_ **_Lavie Tidhar, The Bookman_ **

Sergio closes his eyes and Berlin is there, and Nairobi, smiling at him, welcoming him. He thinks: it is time to join them, to be at peace, to feel no more guilt. But he can’t, not yet - there is something else, another element that demands he pay attention to it. A voice, and one that he loves so deeply, that urges, _you are wrong – absolutely, irrefutably wrong, and I will convince you I’m right, if you give me time to argue my point_. His eyes fly open, staring down the barrel of the gun once more, and he says, “Wait-“  
But it is too late; he hears the gunshot, and all he can do is wait for the darkness to take him.

_One hour earlier  
_ “Bogota?!” Stockholm exclaims, and Lisbon looks round in surprise. Her hands are still clamped around the steering wheel, the knuckles white, and then Marseille is at her window, beaming as brightly as she has ever seen him do.  
“Lisbon. Thank God. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he begins, until he notices the blood. “Jesus. Are you hurt?” he cries out, scrabbling for the door handle, and she hastily shakes her head.  
“It’s not mine,” she informs him and he closes his eyes in relief, but they fly open once more when she grabs him by the front of his uniform and demands, “Sergio- the Professor, where is he, Marseille?”  
“In Guines, about twenty miles from here,” he responds, and the tiny spark of hope in her heart flares into an inferno.  
 _So close_. She can make it. “Right. You have to take me there right now,” she states, elated, but he shakes his head and grabs her arm.  
“No. I can’t. I’m under strict orders to take you to the prison with us,” he tells her, and then succinctly informs them what the plan is. How everyone else is at the prison, how they will abandon Kolarov junior and drive straight to the helicopter, and he will fly them to safety.  
When he gets to that last part the anger flares in Raquel’s eyes and she thrusts out her chin. “And what about the Professor?” she demands, “how the fuck is he going to get away from that mafia boss and his goons once you ditch the son at the prison?!”  
Marseille can’t look her in the eye. “He said he could handle himself,” he informs her mournfully, and she knows that he has also understood the big flaw in the Professor’s plan, the sacrifice he is willing to make to save the rest of them.  
“Marseille,” she implores, her voice breaking as she steps closer to him, “we can’t abandon him. They are going to kill him. We have to help him.”  
The soldier looks away, unable to bear the desperation in her eyes. “I can’t, Lisbon. I promised him-“  
He doesn’t get any further, as she cocks her gun and shoves it into his balls. “It’s not a request, Marseille,” she says, every word a bullet to his heart. “The rest of you can go to the prison, but I am going to that house in Guines, and I am going to get Sergio, whether you help me or not. Now step the fuck out of my way.”  
He knows, then, that she means every word, and that the only way to stop her will be to incapacitate her, and that he cannot do. Besides, he has never abandoned a fellow soldier in his life, and he can’t get it over his heart to do so now. It is with some relief that he turns to Bogota. “You take everyone else to the prison in the van; Lisbon and I will take the jeep and go get the Professor. We’ll see you at the helicopter.”

_Present  
_ Strangely enough there is no pain, and Sergio ponders that curiosity as he waits for death. He always thought that being shot must be excruciating, and yet he feels nothing. Maybe the bullet severed the pain receptors in his brain, maybe he is already dead. Yes, that must be it. Well then, at least it was quick. He thinks about her, and regret burns bright. He wanted a lifetime with her, decades to show her how special she is, to love her, to make love to her. _Oh, Raquel_ …  
 _Wait_. For fuck’s sake, does this mean there is indeed an afterlife, and that he will take all the regrets and guilt with him for eternity?! Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but still, it sucks. He hears a voice, beloved and cherished, and he is grateful that he will at least also have that along with the guilt and regrets in eternity. Raquel’s voice, so beautiful, so soothing.  
“If you so much as blink, I will fucking shoot you, you son of a bitch,” her voice threatens, and everything screeches to a halt. Why would he hear her say that in the afterlife? Unless… His eyes fly open and there she is, in the flesh, pressing a gun to the back of Kolarov’s head. She is covered in blood and looks like something out of a horror movie, but she has never been more beautiful to him. In the corner Marseille stands over the Russian’s foot-soldier, who is clutching his bleeding hand, and the gun he pointed at Sergio seconds earlier lies at Sergio’s feet, mangled. The shot he heard must have been fired by Marseille, he realises; he shot the gun out of the man’s hand. His eyes find Raquel’s over the Russian’s shoulder, and they stare at each other wordlessly, overcome. She has come for him, like she promised. Just like he kept his promise and came for her. That’s when he knows that it will always be thus: they will always come for each other, until the end of time.

They tie up the two Russians and leave them there for the Cuban authorities to find, and as they walk away the mafia boss screams obscenities after them, but they can’t care less. They are both alive, Paula and Marivi is safe, and they are together still, their little family intact.

_Twenty minutes later  
_ As the helicopter lifts off, Sergio pulls Raquel against him with one arm and reaches out with the other hand to ruffle Paula’s hair. Over her head he smiles at Marivi and Privi, unspeakably grateful that they are safe.  
“Sergio, I’m covered in blood,” Raquel protests half-heartedly, but that only makes him hold her tighter and she quickly capitulates and wraps both arms around his middle.  
“I don’t care.” He watches Denver and Stockholm kiss ardently, and Manila bounce little Cinci on her knee, and he sees Rio and Bogota laugh together. Everyone is happy, almost giddy with their escape, but he can’t quite share in it. Neither can Helsinki, who stares into space forlornly, mourning the loss of his former lover. When he looks over at Tokyo she has a similarly sombre expression, and when he catches her eye she gets up and comes over.  
“Did you know?” she asks, only loud enough for the Professor and Lisbon to hear, and though he understands what she is talking about he waits for her to say it. “Did you know Palermo was going to sacrifice himself like that?”  
He swallows, momentarily overcome with grief, and Raquel tightens her hold in response. “Yes. I knew there was a possibility he would have to.” He looks at Tokyo. “But so did he. He agreed to play his part even though he knew there might be no way out for him,” he added, and can’t help but turn his gaze on Raquel as he does so. He can read her thoughts in her eyes – she is thinking: _As did you_ , and only then does he feel her start to shake with delayed shock, and all he can do is cradle her head as she cries into his chest.

_50 miles south of Cancun, Mexico  
_ Marseille flies them to one of the Professor’s safe houses on the coast of Mexico, about 50 miles south of Cancun, where they can clean up and de-stress before dispersing to their respective homes once more. Once there, Raquel showers for an inordinately long time, pulling Sergio into the stall with her so that he can make sure not a single speck of blood remains on her. Once she is clean enough for him to see the finger-marks around her neck, his eyes darken with anger and self-recrimination, and he reaches out to gently touch one of them, then leans forward and presses his lips to it in a futile attempt to make it better. Her hands go into his hair, holding his head there at the same time as her fingers massage his scalp soothingly, and she says, “It’s not your fault, darling. None of it.” But when he pulls back the guilt is still there, so she promptly drags him over to the bed and presses him down on it. They are both soaking wet but she doesn’t care. All she wants is to make those shadows in his eyes disappear, so for the next hour she proceeds to do what she promised herself she will a few days ago: she shags his brains out. She uses every trick she knows to prolong their intercourse, to keep going until all she can read in his eyes is love and lust and boundless joy, and then she finally lets him fall over the edge, holding him to her as he empties himself inside her. As he shakes in her arms with the force of his orgasm, she hopes that he is emptying himself from all those regrets and guilt at the same time, for that is the only way they will survive: to forgive themselves and move on.

That night everyone gathers around the big table on the terrace for dinner, and Raquel once again marvels at the ability of this dysfunctional family to enjoy their times together, no matter what calamities they have just lived through. The attempted jailbreak and Kolarov and his men’s capture in Cuba has made headlines the world over, and they toast to that boisterously. They also raise a glass in honour of Palermo, knowing that they would not be here without his sacrifice, and Raquel clutches Sergio’s hand as they do so. Later, she smiles at Monica as Denver dances around maniacally with Cinci, and the two women share a wordless moment, the bond between them fortified by their shared experience. Raquel knows that they will remain close for as long as they both remain alive, and she will do her damnedest to ensure the two families meet regularly from now on. Besides, she and Sergio have agreed to be the godparents of the new baby, so they will have to see the other couple regularly to fulfil those duties. And maybe they can include Marseille, too, as he and Sergio seem to enjoy each other’s company. Sergio’s hand finds hers under the table and she turns to him with a dazzling smile; happy to be alive, happy to be with him, and he lifts her hand to his mouth to press a tender kiss to her knuckles. The expression on his face is content and relaxed, and she knows what he is thinking: _we made it._

**Epilogue**

**  
** _Chess is the most intimate game in the world. It’s like making love. By the time we finish our first slow game, I will know all his thoughts.”  
_ **_Eloisa James, Desperate Duchesses_ **

_One week later  
_ _Canoa, Ecuador  
_ It is a rainy afternoon and when Raquel comes down the stairs she sees Paula sitting on the sofa, one knee drawn to her chest as she watches the raindrops pearl against the window before sliding down the glass. She stops on the bottom step and watches her daughter for a moment, trying to read her mood. Raquel has tried to talk to everyone about what happened, to make sure they are alright, and with Marivi and Privi it was easy. They are older and know that there is a dark side to life, but this was the first time Paula has experienced it first-hand. Raquel takes a breath and goes over to settle on the opposite end of the sofa.  
“Hey,” she says, briefly squeezing Paula’s big toe. “What are you doing?”  
“Just thinking.”  
“Hmm. What about?”  
Paula’s eyes turn to her. “About Papa.”  
 _Oh Christ_. Raquel is instantly gripped by fear. Has Paula finally realised what kind of life she and Sergio is leading and decided it’s not for her? Does she want to go back to Alberto? “Oh?” she says, and can hear the tension in her own voice, “what about him?”  
Paula watches her unwaveringly. “When that bad man had his hands around your throat, I remembered seeing Papa do that to you once.”

Raquel feels the blood drain from her face. _Oh shit_. That night was the worst the abuse ever got, the night that convinced her to get a divorce, and it breaks her heart to think that Paula witnessed it. She obviously suppressed the memory, as children tend to do to protect themselves, but seeing it happen to her mother again must have brought it all back. Raquel has to concentrate on her breathing not to be overwhelmed by the knowledge. “Paula…” she begins, and falters. She can feel her hands shaking; even after all this time those memories still has the ability to unsettle her.  
“Why would Papa do that?” Paula asks, “why would he hurt you like that?”  
“Oh, darling,” Raquel sighs, briefly closing her eyes, “I don’t know if I can answer that. Some men are- they’re angry at life, and they take it out on other people.”  
Paula absorbs that. “And the men who locked us up? Were they like that too?”  
“Yes, sweetie, they were. The important thing to remember is that it is not anything you or I do wrong that make these men so angry – it comes from within themselves. Alright? None of it is your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault but theirs.” Suddenly Paula scoots over to curl into her mother’s side, and Raquel wraps her arms around her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay?” she checks, anxious that Paula must understand this, and the girl nods.  
“Okay.”

They sit quietly for a while, listening to the rain, each lost in their own thoughts, until Paula says out of the blue, “Sergio is not angry like that,” and the certainty in her voice warms Raquel’s heart.  
“No. No, he isn’t,” she confirms, equally sure, and Paula looks up at her.  
“I’m glad we live with him now. Even if it means we have to move a lot.”

_Late night  
_ They dance once more. It is not to the tune of a _charanga_ and they are not on their feet, but it is a dance all the same. It is the most intimate dance of all – Sergio flat on his back and Raquel draped over him, and he is sheathed inside her. The room is bathed in flickering candle-light, the flames dancing with them in the gentle breeze blowing in through the open window, and Van Morrison sings to them from the turn-table. They are content to be together, to be joined like this, and for now there is the minimum of movement. They want to make it last. Her breasts are pressed to his chest as she runs her tongue up the vein in the side of his neck, then gives his earlobe a gentle nip. He smiles and trails his fingers down the valley of her spine in response, well aware that she loves it when he caresses her back. It is a particularly erogenous zone for her, something he learned to his delight in those first weeks of living together. For he loves her back; the skin so smooth and supple, and the hidden strength of the muscles below it, revealed to him on those occasions when she rides him backwards. But most of all he loves how sensitive she is to his touch there. She moans and seeks out his mouth with hers, and they kiss slowly, totally enamoured with each other.

Eventually she pulls back and he gathers her hair in the nape of her neck, out of her face, so that he can look at her. The most beautiful face in the whole wide world, he thinks mystically, as her hand mimicks his and burrows into his hair as well. “Paula told me today that she is glad that we live with you now, even if we have to move a lot,” she divulges, and his breath hitches. Raquel knows it has been a source of concern for him and she nuzzles his nose with hers. “She loves you, Sergio,” she says, and then grins lustily. “Just like her mother,” she adds, kissing him again, this time open-mouthed, sucking his upper lip in between hers and running her tongue over the hair there. She takes her time, exploring his mouth, and he reciprocates enthusiastically. They are extremely compatible at kissing, he marvels hazily, lost in the wet heat of both her mouth and her vagina, and there is nowhere in the world he would rather be. Her hair runs like silk through his fingers as they make out for minutes on end, his other drawing patterns on her back, driving her crazy. Her hand fists in his hair in response, her nails digging into his scalp, and the heat between them threatens to flare out of control as he thrusts up into her, swallowing the gasp that escapes from her throat.  
“You like that?” he manages between kisses, and she grinds down onto him in answer, so he does it again. And again.

They begin to settle into a rhythm, his hand finding the side of her face as they look at each other, drown in each other’s eyes. _God yes_. He feels so connected to her in times like these, so understood, and he wonders how he ever managed to make love to other women before her, women who didn’t bother to look him in the eye during the act. But then, that was just sex. _This_ , this is making love. The music changes and the first notes of an acoustic guitar fill the air, soon to be joined by the low, soulful sound of a cello, and his heart skips a beat. It is _These Are The Days_ , the Van Morrison song he secretly thinks of as their song, and she seems to sense the upwell of emotion in him because she clasps him between her thighs just as she clenches her inner muscles around his cock, increasing the friction on the next thrust tenfold, and it is his turn to gasp. She does it again on the next stroke and his back arches with the pleasure of it, driving him into her even deeper as a result, and it brings the hint of a smile to her lips. Fuck, how is she so good at this? How did he get so lucky? At least he knows he is doing something right in return, for she so obviously enjoys every moment of having him inside her. The same pleasure that floods him is written all over her face too, and in every caress and every word she says to him as they make love. Like now, when she repeats the lyrics of the song to him, her mouth hovering inches from his: _These are the days, the time is now; there is no past, there’s only future; there’s only here, there’s only now._

No more guilt, she is telling him, no more regrets about what happened in the past. This is all that matters; our happiness in the present, the here and now.   
And when she sits up with a flip of her hair and begins to ride him in earnest, he believes that she is right. This is all that matters; this togetherness, this delirious joy, this bliss. He cups her breasts and rubs his thumbs over her stiffened nipples on each stroke, and her head tilts back at the glorious sensation that sparks across her nerve-ends in response. He keeps it up for as long as he can, bucking up into her every time she drives down onto him. She begins to lose control, lost to her own desires, and when she leans back and plants her hands on his thighs he knows she is getting close. The change of angle brings him in the deepest yet on the next thrust and an incoherent “Ah!” escapes her, to be repeated on every deep thrust that follows. It is the most vocal she ever gets during sex, when she is riding him like this, with total abandon, and he revels in it. He strives harder to counter-thrust up into her, his thigh muscles bunching under her hands with the effort, to make this as good for her as he possibly can. He will never be just a passive participant during sex, not with her, because it means too much. He loves her, she is his whole world, and this is how he proves it to her. As she starts to lose her rhythm his hands move to her hips, supporting her, helping her to prolong their pleasure. He is mesmerised by the sight above him, her lithe body, sheened in sweat and glowing in the lamp-light, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her teeth clamped onto her lower lip, her breasts juddering with every thrust. And above all, her eyes fixed on his, their honey-coloured depths aflame with lust, for him. With _love_. For _him_. She is his goddess, his muse, his inspiration. The love of his life. And when Van Morrison sings: _These are the days now that we must savour, and we must enjoy as we can; these are the days that will last forever, you’ve got to hold them in your heart_ , he thinks, _yes_.

These days he gets to spend with her is all that matters, and it should not be soured with regrets. His thumb finds her clitoris and presses down, rubbing it in hard circles, and it pushes her over the edge. Her back arches and her mouth opens in a silent scream when she comes, her climax flooding from her and onto his groin, and when her muscles spasm around his cock and draws his own orgasm from him with mind-blowing force, nothing else matters but the moment they are in together.

The here and now, forever.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for the kind reviews and kudos.


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